But he was not a dreamer, this young Tyrone Power, slated for stardom in the next few years. He was as certain of his Destiny as if it had been translated for him into words and paragraphs.

During those long hot summer afternoons when the soda fountain behind which he presided was a whirl of voices commanding sodas, sundaes and limeades, his hands worked automatically, swiftly--but his mind was intent on future and wider horizons.

His tutored wrist flang the orders down the counter so expertly that they varied not an inch from their purported destination. "I could stop 'em on a dime," he recalls today, with eyes wrinkling with amusing memory.

In the early evening there were long lulls. And then young Tyrone looked over the magazine racks, where now on row of the movie greats stared at him from the covers. He would idle through the pages, reading of the foibles and idiosyncrasies--the histories and back grounds of the men and women whose names were legends throughout the world. Not even to himself would he admit that his ambition bracketed his name with those he read. Consciously he wondered how it would seem to be famous; how it would feel to step outside the bounds of obscurity to achieve a Fame to match his heritage!

Actor he would be--that he knew! From childhood he had accepted it as a certain fact.

He belonged to the stage. His grandfather was Harold Power, one of the England's greatest concert pianists. His father, Tyrone Power II, had been for years one of the significant names on the American stage. On his maternal side he had Patia Power, his mother, who had a fame-niche of her own.

And so by tradition and by birth, Tyrone Power III was dedicated to the theatre. The first was a great-grandfather, a renowned actor in the early 19th century who had been named after Country Tyrone, the homeland of the Power family.

The elevation of this boy to screen stardom in less than a year from his humble beginning is today one of the milestones in Hollywood's drama. His is all the fanfare of sensational stardom; his the accolade and importance of the anointed in this town of drama. Others before him had sprung to sudden fame, but no one has traveled more valiantly, built more carefully, earned success more competently than Tyrone Power.

His story begins only 24 years ago, when on the late afternoon of May 5th, Patia Power was told that her first-born was a boy. At that moment this mother who had trained him so carefully so painstakingly all these years--who today still is ever at his side, advising him in his diction, in his interpretation--who has always been perhaps the most important factor in his success--was confident that her son would be a great actor.

Tyrone's first years had all the shifts and changes to which theatrical children are heir. When the baby was three months old his parents were signed under contract to Famous Players and worked in silent pictures in and about New York. A few months later they were transferred to Hollywood.

When eventually the Powers were recalled to New York and the stage, they discovered quickly that the climate was too rigorous for the delicate boy. And so Tyrone and his small sister, Ann--his junior by seventeen months--were brought back to California by their mother. They went directly to San Diego. There little Tyrone played on the sands of Coronado Beach, gaining health and strength in the sunshine; laying the foundation for that splendid physical vitality which is his today.

In the meanwhile, the United States had entered the war; San Diego was a mobilization point. Realizing the need for entertainment in the various camps. Patia Power organized a branch of the Stage Women’s War Relief a unit of the Red Cross. She formed a little stock company--the Power players--and for the duration of the War and through the demobilization period she staged plays, vaudeville shows and concerts for the men-at-arms. Later on she received national recognition for her service.

The youngsters had been left in the care of a competent nurse. But once the War was over, and her work was done, Patia Power rejoined her children and moved to Alhambra, in the San Gabriel Valley, not far from Los Angeles. She had been engaged to play the leading feminine role in John Steven McGroarty's celebrated Mission Play, staged annually at the old Mission San Gabriel.

Tyrone and Ann were watched as carefully as royal children, not alone by their mother and their nurse, but by the others in the cast: by the Indians who adopted them as their own.

"When will I be growed up enough to be an actor?" Tyrone would implore his mother from season to season. And so it was a red letter day in his life, when Mr. McGroarty assigned him to the role of Pablo, a neophyte of the Franciscan Padres. The young boy's natural aptitude for the theatre, for the stage, for all the mimicries of the make-believe world was readily discernible in this small role. So much so that when Mr. McGroarty staged his next play La Golondrina, he gave the boy then seven, an important role.

He made a miniature hit. The critics recognized his ability and prophesied great tings for him in the near years.

In 1923 Patia Power was engaged by the Schuster-Martin School of the Drama in Cincinnati to take over the chair of voice and dramatic expression. With the children she moved to the Ohio city and again established a home. The two were enrolled at the Sisters of Mercy Academy.

At the sixth grade, Tyrone was sent to St. Xavier Academy where he completed his elementary school work. Two semesters at the preparatory school for the University of Dayton followed. He returned to Cincinnati and was entered in the Purcell High School.

Collerating with his school training, with his acquisition of geography and geometry and English--and the acquirement of formal knowledge--there was a deeper training he was receiving --training at the hands of his other which was to prepare him not only for living, but also for his profession.

From the time he was eight he began to understand that acting was something more than saying words in succession--that it required development of a different sort.

He recalls today the breathing exercises; exercises for muscular control; the learning of the difficult art of relaxation--all things which now are contributing to his progress and stature as an actor.

There was a definite program. Each night, for 15 minutes after dinner the two children were required to sit quietly; to try to relax and breathe deeply. That was a lesson i patience. Trying and difficult, but worthwhile, Patia Power knew the value of concentration in later years. Until Tyrone was fourteen this was a regular routine of the day.

He was an active and ambitious youngster. He loathed inactivity of any sort. From the time he was thirteen he began demanding the right to work. The board of Education was in a quandary, and after months of insistent cajoling, they finally gave him permission to get a job.

And so Tyrone worked--summers in the drug store where his first dreams gained impetus; winters ushering in the Orpheum--a motion picture house,.

Those two winters of ushering were in effect an intensive course in acting for Tyrone Power. From observing the reactions of audiences to the various stars, to bits of business, to situation--he learned much, not only about acting, but about the intricate business of presenting drama for public consumption.

He bought a five-cent note book, invented a system for grading the technique and dramatic ability of the players, and for months on end compared his own personal findings with the results at the box-office.

He learned not only what to do, but also what not to do in interpreting a character or a situation.

He was impatient to begin his acting career. In his Junior year at High School he begged his mother's permission to stop school so that he might inaugurate his theatre apprenticeship.

It was one of the few times that Mrs. Power imposed her will upon her son. She insisted that he at least finish high school. And to her wishes he deferred.

For Tyrone Power at this time there was no other world but that of the theatre. His mother's home had been more or less of a salon all his life. Here he had met the glamorous figures of the theatre; had listened to their talk; had absorbed their experiences, and vicariously participated in their triumphs. To him, actors were the only people in the world--there were no others!

And so the delay in entering that beckoning, glamorous procession in answering that urge bred into his bone, poured into his blood by his forebears, irked him endlessly.

At last school was over for him. His high school diploma reposed comfortably in a drawer of his bureau. School was done--and now the business of living which to him was synonymous with the business of acting, would begin in earnest!

The summer following his graduation from high school was a memorable one for him. His father had said to him: "If you are to be an actor, see that you are a very good one." And so that summer he had taken his 17 year old son with him to Quebec--into the peaceful Canadian woods--where for several weeks the two were together constantly.

The elder Power was a master in the interpretation of Shakespearean drama. He believed that if a novice cut his teeth on the Bard's plays, then he would develop a sense of timing, a sense of drama, a sense of interplay of character which would eventually make of him a consummate actor.

Power, the elder, had been engaged for a short season of Shakespearean repertoire in the Chicago Civic Auditorium for the early fall of 1931. Others in the notable cast were Fritz Eiber, William Faversham and Helen Mencken. His father had promised Tyrone that if he progressed satisfactorily during the summer he would be given a small role in each of his father's plays. The pledge was kept.

Tyrone accompanied his father to Chicago, and there received his first footlight baptism in a large theatre.

At the conclusion of the season, Mr. Power was contracted by Paramount studios in the talkie version of The Miracle Man. Tyrone was to have a small part too!

Hollywood was the synonym for Fame and Fortune to the boy. Here he would make a name for himself--for surely, surely his talent would be recognized!

But long before fame and fortune were his, tragedy tapped him on the shoulder. His father was taken ill at the studio at midnight of the 29th of December. Tyrone brought him home--summoned physicians. But at four o'clock that morning, death crowded in. He clung for a moment to his son's encircling arms, sighed gently, and began the long sleep.

It was grief and shock and tragedy mingled. To Tyrone his father had been an idol and an ideal--not only a father, but a great man who symbolized the greatness of the theatre.

And now began Tyrone's hunt for work. The small part he was to have had in The Miracle Man didn't materialize. Others seemed impossible to get. He did the usual things. Made the rounds of the casting offices and agents day after day.

But invariably there was only one answer for him--"nothing today"!--the one phrase that has broken more hearts in Hollywood than any other!