Of all the titles Americans give their lovely girls, the one I like best just now is that of Miss Gingerbread of 1952. This belongs to a sinuous lass named Piper Laurie. She has Florentine red hair and a skin like unripe peaches on the wall. She has earned the title because, although she hasn't appeared much yet on the screen, her lissome young figure, expressing sex in a childish, tomboyish way that is refreshing after too much sultriness, is World Pin-Up Number One, the darling of the Press.
In all the rest centres in Korea, in all the dormitories of the men's colleges in U.S.A., everwhere young men, lonely, dream of beauty, there she is - pert, slim, gleaming. So she is Miss Gingerbread, which is the new word for what used to be called "cheesecake."
Millions of soldiers and civilians have her pinned above their bunks and beds. Does she know about this? She loves to be your gingerbread: for her the gilt will never wear off.
Schoolgirl Adventure
And does she know what it all means? I would say most definitely not. I met her in Hollywood on my last trip, and found her a most healthy, uninhibited, cheerful and disarming young woman of considerable charm. For her, life is simply a school-girl adventure, in which sex and sultriness have no part at all. She was a schoolgirl named Rosetta Jacobs when they caught her for films after three screen tests. When they did, to make her different from the other striplings, they invented two stories about her: (1) that she would not sign a film contract until she had finished high school: (2) that she likes a salad made of flower petals.
I asked her about the petals. She confessed frankly that the only time she has eaten any was when they were taking pictures for the publicity build-up. "But as they said I ate them I did eat some," she said stoutly, on her honour.
About school, I set a general knowledge question: "Who was the first man to fly the Atlantic?" "Admiral - Byrd?" she queried. She said she loved art. "Who is Matisse?" I asked. "Who? she asked. "Picasso?" "Who?"
She told me how she got her job. She was sent for by the classic producer with the big cigar. He didn't say a word to her. He just sat there, puffing. "He held my hand and stared at me." said Piper. "I got so frightened I started to cry. And when I cried I slipped off my chair and sat on the floor. I got the job."
And at that she skipped away for another scene in Son of Ali Baba with Tony Curtis. Life is such fun for Piper Laurie just now.

The third Picturegoer cover, from March 28, 1953 is a photo of PL in lingerie from Mississippi Gambler, the article, also by Paul Holt, is titled "It's Tough At The Top" with a whole series of shots from Mississippi Gambler, captioned: Piper Laurie introduces Power to Society in Mississippi gambler. "Piper should have been introduced more carefully to picturegoers.; Piper Laurie gets advice from her father [Paul Cavanagh] "What of her studio's advice?"; Piper at first spurns the love of the gambler. "No fire in Piper? Who put the flames out?"; Power, the honest gambler, has a run of luck. But Piper hasn't been so lucky; Piper's brother [John Baer] is killed. Is the star-building business dying out, too?; Gwen Verdon in Mississippi Gambler, the film that the national critics never saw. The leadin to the article reads: In "Mississippi Gambler" there's a girl who ought to be a top star. She's Piper Laurie - and she isn't. Now isn't that proof that Hollywood has lost the act of star-building? asks PAUL HOLT:

What rich promise was offered with the first appearance of a youngster named Piper Laurie on the screen? Even her name seemed to suggest something different. Her appearance hinted at delights to come.
To be sure, she was coltish. Her red hair burned like fire, but her snub nose reminded one of the schoolroom. Her body was a young woman's body, certainly, but the way she moved, it suggested she might be more at home on the baseball filed than in the boudoir.
You had the impression that, faced with impending romance, she would most likely propose a nice little game of poker dice on the floor. What a nugget of gold was this for the cinemas! Something was fresh, to make a contrast, at least, with all those stalwart, determined veterans who so ruggedly continue to dispense allure from the screen as each day brings them relentlessly nearer to grandmotherhood.
Why, in days gone by, the men who gave us the stars who are still with us, men such as Thalberg, would have treasured her so carefully, brought her along towards fame so tenderly, that by today she would be one of the top young stars of the screen. They would have put her under wraps, like a Derby favourite. They would have presented her to the press in such a light that every detaii of her personality was attractive, every hint at the flavour of her company aroused immediate and excited curiosity.
Careless Talk...
But what did they do with Piper? They said she liked to eat flowers! They said she liked to make a salad of petals of roses, zinnias, marigolds and pansies for her lunch. They might as well have said she was a cannibal and be done with it. Equally careless has been the choice of parts they have given her these past three years since she signed her first modest contract with the Universal-International studios.
Her first film was Louisa, which showed promise. Then came a funnly little film called The Milkman. The Milkman delivered: Miss Laurie wasn't allowed to. Next there came the film that should have given the biggest dunderhead in the world the hint that here really was star material in the making. It was called The Prince Who Was A Thief.
....Careless Casting
Piper played a ragamuffin of the bazaars who squirmed in an out of the Caliph's palace and generally created such a fluster in the harem and the hearts of the sons of Allah that there wasn't a quiet moment in Baghdad. And so her next film was- guess what: Francis Goes To The Races. This promising young woman was rewarded for her success by being given the privilege of playing nursemaid to a talking mule.
Realizing, surely, that they had made a mistake, her sponsors next hurried her back to old Baghdad in The Son Of Ali Baba, which I saw her making in Hollywood eighteen months ago.
But they are wayward men, these modern film producers, and careless of a professional reputation. Look at the next step for Piper- a minor role in No Room For The Groom. Then Has Anybody Seen My Gal? And next week, she may be seen as second support to Tyrone Power - Julia Adams completes the triangle - in Mississippi Gambler, one of the circuit releases.
There's a fine hodge-podge of ill-assorted films for a young girl setting out to make her way in Hollywood. For myself, I must not criticize, for the film has been kept away from the daily newspaper critics. If they are ashamed of it I can't say why, for I do not know. But I can quote from the two best-known critics in Britains's specialized press.
PICTUREGOER'S Lionel Collier says: "Power does quite well as the honest gambler, but Piper Laurie is rather negative as the high-spirited beauty who at first spurns his love." Rather negative!...heavens, what have they done to this child? And Josh Billings, doyen of critics, whose full initials, R.H.B. are familiar to readers of PICTUREGOER review pages, has written: "Tyrone Powere...carries both his leading ladies, Piper Laurie and Julia Adams, neither of whom displays much fire..." No fire in Piper? Who put the flames out?
Hers is not an isolated example of this new laxness in the vital Hollywood business of star building. In the thirties, they knew a thing or two about that art. Their handiwork is still with us in the form of box office names. But where are stars? Mention practically any post war name and you'll find behind it a story of half-heartedness on the part of one major studio or another.
Mitzi Gaynor: Here's a girl who could have been put over big from the word go. But what happens? She's pushed into a piece of nonsense called Down Among The Sheltering Palms. And no sooner was she beginning to live that down with Bloodhounds of Broadway, than out comes The "I Don't Care" Girl, which is hardly a gain for Mitzi.
No Faith In The Stars
Faith Domergue: Here was producer Howard Hughes trying again with the sort of publicity formula that sold Jane Russell. Miss Domergue, herself, had something, but neither Vendetta nor Where Danger Lives gave her a chance of showing that certain something. Publicity, you see, without star-building tactics.
Kim Hunter: Here's a classic example of neglect. After A Matter Of Life And Death, you'd have expected the star-builders to get to work, wouldn't you? But they didn't . And they didn't after A Streetcar Named Desire. They still haven't. For even when they gave her a role opposite Bogart in Deadline, she was incidental to the real story.
And now over to another example of laxness in star-building. Take the case of Marilyn Monroe. They have succeeded in making a laughing stock of this gay girl They have turned her attractions into a sex snigger. Here is the latest story about her.
Sex Story Ban
Because she had to go to a party to accept an award for "the fastest rising star of 1952," Miss Monroe asked the wardrobe mistress at Twentieth Century Fox if she could borrow a dress she wears in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Now this old Anita Loos story is, as you know, a satireon sex: the gown was a golden, glittering sheath. As Marilyn turned away from the microphone to sway away with her prize, the body of the hall broke out in whistles and wolf calls.
In the audience sat Darryl Zanuck, her boss, his face like thunder. Now all Hollywood press agents have been ordered to cut out the sex angles in their stories.
But isn't it too late? The old stories have stuck. I think they may find they have been careless too long. That's what the Monroe story points to, anyway. For doesn't it suggest that the serious business of star-building hasn't been given serious attention?
The reason for the neglect is that all Hollywood today panics about TV and raves about 3-D and forgets it real business of star-making. Producers behave like the party that threw the baby out of the sledge when the wolves got too close.
Very well, then. If they must throw babies, they must. But not my baby. Not my Piper Laurie.