It has not been easy, being Tyrone Power?s mother, not is it easy now. I?m glad for that, of course. The job has kept me busy and amused for many years, when I might have grown middle-aged out of sheer boredom .

My son, at twenty-four, is a success. That?s no accident. He was born with certain inherent qualities-restless vitality, enormous ambition, a certain ruthlessness which must be distinguished form cruelty, detachment about himself, better than ordinary intelligence-all of which are necessary to reach the top in any field. But also he was raised to be a success. The direction, the guidance were deliberate.

I knew I had something special in Tyrone when he was only about two years old. I?d brought him to California because his health was delicate and doctors thought the Eastern winters too severe for him. As the months went on he grew into a furious little boy, outrageously happy at small things and impatient always.

He had been born to a stage heritage, since the Powers have been famous actors for three generations; and I was an actress myself. I thought, Take care, Patia. You can?t lead this child because, he is too intelligent, too ambitious to be led. You must direct him subtly. He must live his own life, with your help.

I studied psychology then. It was important that I be a wise, patient parent if Tyrone were to respect me. He was a child removed from the ordinary, I knew, and that pleased me. Here was a challenge: he could turn out to be either a thorough good-for-nothing or a magnificent success, and half the battle was to be mine.

Always, I respected his intelligence, his right and ability to think for himself. He was never whipped. I wanted never to shame the boy, particularly since he was sensitive to a degree. But he chose his own punishments. ?You know,? I would say, ?that trick was cheap and unworthy. Don?t you think you deserve a discipline to make up for it??

the punishments he named were seldom easy ones.

When he was seven Tyrone developed an escapist complex. He would get very angry with his little friends, and dissatisfied with things about his home. His little sister got on his nerves. And after all his mother was a bit severe, so why should he live with it at all? He?d leave.

?After I have gone out into the world,? he would say-without melodrama; thank heaven, he was never a bad actor-?you will see what I am worth to you.?

After disregarding this sort of thing for a few weeks I decided one afternoon to take him up on it. I said, ?Very well. Perhaps you?re right. I?ll pack your bag for you.?

He stood still, his eyes growing very bid, but I took his arm and walked him up to his room. I packed his little suitcase, gave it to him,and kissed him goodbye. ?Now be a good boy,? I told him, ?and remember that if I can ever help you, you?re to let me know.?

He went slowly down the walk, and I stood there, feeling a little dizzy. If I weakened and called him back, my own position would be wrecked for all time.

He stopped suddenly, turned around, and came back to the steps. ?I?ve decided to wait a little while,? he said gravely, ?if it?s all right with you.?

?Just as you like.?

Neither of us ever mentioned the subject again.

I faced my son?s adolescence without fear but with one or two misgivings. His father was away on tour almost all of the time-and I knew that if ever Tyrone were to need a man?s clear guidance it would be at this period.

We were in Cincinnati then, and he was doing well in school. But the jazz age had come rushing in and I was a little appalled. Tyrone had developed an amoral attitude-that I, he observed things detachedly, did them so, without bigotry. His ethics were based on a sense of values within himself to which he must answer. A stupid or ugly thing, to him, was distasteful.

But about him a young world drove at reckless speed in brightly painted jalopies, and had no thought or creed. Much more of Tyrone?s time was spent away from home. I could have no idea what influences were touching him.

there was the problem of sex. At least he came into adolescence prepared Throughout his life I always answered all of his questions on this subject in forthright terms, in keeping with his mental growth.

The choice of girls I believed I could leave to his hood taste. He made on mistake, and fortunately I played the right card at the right time then. He was ushering in a theater, and apparently met the young lady afterward, and offered to take her home. It was late; I was reading when Tyrone came in.

?I?d like to borrow your car,? he said.

?Uh-going far??

?Not very far.? He knew I wanted some sort of explanation but offered none.

?Why don?t you bring her up?? I asked him, smiling.

He hesitated, and then shrugged. ?All right.?

She was attractive, heaven knows. I saw Tyrone?s point of view. But those tiny bracelets, and that giggle and all that perfume!?

When they were ready to go, I took a long breath. ?It?s so very warm tonight-would you mind if I came along too, for the ride? I?ll sit in the back seat.?

Tyrone looked at me calmly, his eyes expressionless. ?Very well, Mother...?

I sat in the tonneau and stared straight ahead, knowing that is an uncomfortable thing to be a boy with a girl beside you and to feel your mother?s thoughts boring into the back of your head. If Tyrone outwilled me, my action would make me a meddling woman.

My courtesy to the girl was faultless. I could not imply by word or tone or attitude what I thought of her, else Tyrone immediately would champion her.

Fortunately for me, she lost her poise completely when we stopped in front of her modest home on the wrong side of the tracks. I felt a pang of pity for her, but the brutality was necessary.

On the way back Tyrone stopped the car, motioned me to come up into the front seat with him. ?Ok, you win,? he said sheepishly. And suddenly felt exhausted, as if I had been running uphill for hours.

Tyrone left home after he had finished high school, as I new he must. He handled his career in his own way, without interference from me, because I knew that so far as training went I had done all I could. The rest was up to him. I held my faith in his impatience with life. His self-assurance, his honest talent.

When he had made his success in Hollywood, at the age of twenty-two, he asked me to make my home with him. I knew that if I accepted his invitation I must change my entire attitude toward him and toward myself.

My son was now a man. The house would be his house, the final decision his in all matters. Failure on my part to realize that would mean failure of the whole idea.

I fancy the thing has worded out well. We have a fairly large house on top of a hill in Bel Air, and I see that it is run smoothly. My main object, always, is to be on hand ready to function in any capacity he may with-yet never to be in the way. It?s not simple. But I consider it a happy privilege rather than a task.

At the house I entertain no one while Tyrone is running under a heavy schedule. His home at such times must be a peaceful haven, which he may come for a quiet if he likes-or for noisy gaiety. But that is up to him.

I don not ask him to make plans. He lives at high nervous and emotional stress, and he must be free to do exactly as he pleases, when he pleases, in the time that is left him. I must therefore be prepared for anything.

There are times when he wants to place entirely to himself, when he wants to bring a young noisy crowd home and play records and ?swing from the chandeliers.? Then he will say at breakfast, ?Mother-uh, have you a dinner engagement tonight??

My reply is, ?Well-I?ve six or seven standing invitations-tell me how many you want dinner for here, and I?ll see that everything?s? ready before I leave.

I don?t, of course, let the business of being a star?s mother take up all my time. That would be unfair to myself, and the weight of my attitude, which then would amount to an obsession, would make Tyrone uneasy.

Naturally, in my long association with him I?ve had a few heartaches. But never any tragedy. Tyrone is too strong to allow tragedy. He has not time, no patience with such a thing.

I observe the past with a certain complacence; the immediate future with excitement; the far future with unconcern When Tyrone marries and the current situation is changed, we will work that out, I am convinced, with intelligence and faith in each other. THE END.