Deep or Not

For at least a decade of her reign as the blonde and vivacious "bless you" darling of sophisticated cafe society, one of Hildegarde's favorite quips has been: "If the folks at home could only see what has happened to Hildy." Last week the folks were getting their chance. Trouper Hildegarde, a long way from the comfortable coziness of such glamorous old hangouts as the Persian Room of Manhattan's Plaza, was in the midst of a barnstorming tour of 65 one-night stands. Her caravan included her own chauffeur-driven Cadillac, five other sedans for her staff and ten-piece orchestra, and a pastel-yellow Mack truck for the musical instruments and her four trunks of gowns.

The girl from Wisconsin (real name Hildegarde Loretta Sell) thought she was "beginning to get the deep feeling of America." The customers were enjoying it all, deep or not.

Close the Schools. Except for a new "Hopalong Hildegarde" number which she did in a red sombrero to the strains of Texas Tornado, the act was the standard Hildegarde mixture of sentiment and bounce. Interspersed with her flamboyant piano-playing and her vivacious and nostalgic songs came such blushing lines as "I know I'm not pretty, but I got pep." She kept getting her audiences into the act by handing out roses and kisses to bashful customers (one man decorated with a rose in Olney, Md.: General Omar Bradley).

One of the highlights of the trip was Bloomfield, Iowa (pop. 2,732). Mayor Vern L. Smith proclaimed a "Hildegarde Day," and stores were closed and schools let out; between halves of the Bloomfield-Milan (Mo.) football game the Bloomfield band formed an "H" on the field. In Grand Forks, N.Dak., where she arrived in the midst of the potato-digging season, she was honored with a peck of spuds.

What Do You Expect? In Akron, Ohio last week Hildy proved that she could thaw her audience (paying a top of $3.50) even in the frigid atmosphere of an armory. Flitting from microphone to piano in front of her band, combing her upswept hairdo with both hands (an act which once caused a West Coast wag to nickname her "Miss Armpits"), Hildy got them all right into the act as usual.

Tipped off that there was a judge in the balcony, she stopped and called out, "Say, judge, what does a judge do?" "He judges," said the judge, to everybody's delight. When she sang a sour note, obviously on purpose, she stopped and demanded: "What do you people expect? Lily Pons? Well, all you are getting is a chanteuse from Milwaukee."

Hildegarde will interrupt her tour for a holiday stand next month at a Boston hotel. Her verdict to date: "There are no provinces any more."

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