"Ty-Ron-ee! Ty-ron-ee Po-vair!" That cry will always remind me of Italy. For, day and night, it echoed across the streets surrounding the Excelsior Hotel in Rome. And day and night great crowds of people waited in those streets, hoping for a glimpse of their idol.

Before I myself went abroad, I knew that Tyrone Power was a popular man here. But I could not have imagined his popularity on the continent. To that Italians, particularly, he is the greatest star Hollywood and America ever produced. And, though Ty the time I arrived, he had been in Rome for months, still the furor went on. If he was about to go out to dinner, it seemed all Rome knew about it. If he dined at his hotel, his admirers climbed the walls and perched on top of them to see him at the table.

Tyrone loves Italy, of course, and the people there know it. That is part of his charm for them. But there is much more than that to the picture, much more. I believe, to the man. To me he is one of the most remarkable men I have ever met.

I was introduced to him on the 20th Century-Fox lot just before he left for abroad. I knew by that time that I would play opposite him in "Prince of Foxes," which was to be made in Rome, Sienna, Florence and other Italian towns.

At the time of our meeting I was vastly complimented because Mr. Power had seen "Ride the Pink Horse" and had asked for me for "Foxes." I was excited about going to Europe, naturally, but I was equally excited about being chosen especially by him.

When I got to Italy, I found him exactly the opposite of what I had imagined. For one thing, it was months before we really became friends, before we could site down between scenes and talk casually. And that didn't stem from the fact that he was standoffish or personally cool. Until then, he had been very nice, very easy. But it was as if he wanted to know me first, before I knew him.

When I did know him, I found him to be one of the kindest and most thoughtful people alive. He was never "the star" in the sense that he ignored the feelings of those around him. If for instance, I looked tiered, or if I looked as if I was not pleased with a scene I had just done, he saw it immediately. Not only did he see it, but he wanted to know what he could do, whether he could get me tea or something, or do the scene again.

There was one sequence we did on the parapets of an old castle. We were standing in the broiling sun, wearing the heavy costumes of the period. And after a while it seemed to me that I simply couldn't stand it any more. I knew I was going to faint.

Mr. Power noticed it at once, and called for a chamois dipped in cold water. Between each take I held this to my temples and so managed to get through the afternoon.

I call him "Mr. Power." Yes, even thought I have worked with him and know him well. Why? Well, there is something about him which inspires that title. I fell into calling him that completely, naturally and never wanted to call him by his first name. For "Mr. Power" seemed right. It denoted the respect he himself creates.

I think there are two basic qualities about him of which the public knows little. First he is definitely a romanticist.

He looks romantic of course. And he wears a costume as if he were actually living in the period in question, as if it were actually right for him. He enjoys costume films, I think, not merely because they give hi the chance to "Dress up," but because they allow him to go back in time for a moment and re-created the past.

He is romantic, too, in his social qualities. He has the ability to make a woman feel womanly and feminine in his presence. And he respects women in the old-fashioned, charming way. He likes to do things for them, admire them, put them on a pedestal.

With his wife, Linda, who was there with us in Rome, he showed these attributes more strongly than with anyone else, naturally. When he stood talking to her, his way of looking at her alone was a compliment. He was attentive to every word she said, every gesture she made. And he was constantly buying her beautiful presents, things which seemed almost like tributes to her own loveliness: gorgeous antique earrings, for example, and furs, and magnificent gowns.

With any woman, however, he was this sense of deep interest. When he talks to you, he talks to you. He doesn't look around as most men do. You are the center of his attention. And he sees your clothes, your hair, everything about you. In short, he behaves as characters in fiction do, not men in real life.

The second thing about him that people don't realize is hi depth, almost a mystic quality.

I have said that he was kind, but it goes farther than that. What he possesses is difficult to describe, but it is a type of spiritual goodness which is extremely rare. He is a very social person, for instance, a very sophisticated person, yet he has something in himself that is far beyond the usual social requirements, something far, far warmer.

I remember, for instance, something that happened at the birthday party he gave for Linda. It was a beautiful party with a huge buffet and champagne and a big fire blazing and a great many delightful people as guests. But I couldn't seem to shake off my disappointment at not being able to get home for Christmas with Audie. It seemed by then that it would be impossible, as it later turned out to be, and it broke my heart.

Even in the crowded room, Mr. Power saw that something was wrong. He came over to where I WAS sitting. "What's the matter, Little Bit?" he asked, using his pet name for me. I explained, adding, "Five months away from Audie is a long time, you know."

He nodded silently. Then he said, softly, "But every day can be Christmas, Little bit. You can make Christmas out of every day you live."

It was more than a statement to solace me. It was almost a declaration of his own philosophy.

Another incident which I recall took place at a dinner party given a few of us by an Italian countess.

Henry King, our director, Mr. Power, and several more were sitting around a perfectly appointed table, casually chatting. Suddenly, Mr. Power rose and lifted his glass.

"I'd like to propose a toast," he said. "A toast to the man who gave me my first chance, my first test, and my first part, without whom I would not be dinning so happily in Italy tonight: Henry King!"

We drank the toast gladly, of course. And we drank it was astonishment: It had been twelve years at least since Mr. King first tested un unknown boy named Tyrone Power. But he had not forgotten--and would never forget.

Still, he is not without humor and is not without professional honesty.

There is one scene in "Prince of Foxes" where Mr. Power is supposed to have been put in prison and beaten. The description given in the book is that his face is almost unrecognizable when he is next seen. And Mr. Power insisted on doing his own makeup for the sequence.

The result was, in one word, terrifying. His mouth was all torn and twisted. His eyes were sunken. He had caked blood down on cheek. Actually, he had done such a wonderful job that to look at him made you hurt. Which, incidentally, was what he wanted--not to look pretty.

A few minutes after he appeared on the set, he went up to my secretary, Liz and announced, "I don't want to scare you, but I'm giving a party on Christmas night. Will you come?"

She said she would, if he promised to look like himself that evening!

He is human enough--and Irish enough--to get mad, too. He had to wear a helmet in one scene in the picture which not only drove him crazy but looked awful. When Mr. King insisted that it remain, he blew up--but he wore it. Before each take he jammed the thing down over his ears with a grim expression and wasn�t happy until he could throw it fifty feet at the end of the day.

I saw him get angry, too, when some Italian fans presumed too much. His sister, Anne, came down to Rome to visit him. She's a delightful person and he idolizes her. And one day, going into a hotel, some kid who was trying to get his autograph or something pushed her aside roughly to reach him. He turned red in the fact and growled something in Italian, and pushed the kid back as roughly as he had appeared. There was no doubt about his sentiments.

He loves little gestures, giving people things, doing things for them. He had a lot of shoes made for himself in Rome for instance. We all did, for they were both beautiful and inexpensive. And one day a young Siamese boy, who was helping him and the company, came into Mr. Power's room. Three pairs of shoes had just been brought by the bookmaker and were lying on the floor.

"Which one do you like best?" Mr. Power asked the boy.

The boy looked them all over carefully.

"The brown suede, I think, Signor Power."

Mr. Power turned to the merchant. "Then make him a pair just like them, please.

And for Christmas he had huge leather albums made for each member of the company, each with the recipients' initials on it. They were filled with pictures of all the towns we had visited while the film was being made, to remind us all of being there together.

By Christmas Day, I was personally so exhausted and so disappointed at not being able to get home that I had become ill. I had developed both the flue and laryngitis, and it was only because I didn't have to speak in my final scenes that I was able to do them. Then I went to bed and stayed there. And I was in bed on The Big Day itself.

It was Mr. Power, of course, who remembered my condition and who knew how miserable I'd be. And suddenly on Christmas afternoon there he was with Linda, laughing, gay, bent on cheering me up.

He gave a party for the entire cast and crew that night, and I got out of bed to go. I decided that, flu or no flu, I was going to have some fun out of the season. And I did, for like every part Mr. Power gave that one was perfectly wonderful.

Soon after that, I finally got permission to come home. And Mr. Power�s farewell was typical of him.

He took my hand. "Little Bit," he said, "when you marry Audie, be very happy. I want you to be happy. For you are exactly what I had hoped you would be--long before I met you." Then he paused. Quietly, headed, "And remember this: If there is anything I can ever do for you, at any time, you have only to ask me. If you ever need anything, let me know."

It wasn't just an unthinking statement. It was evidence of what sort of man Tyrone Power is.

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