Dear Bobby and Sandra: Your car pulled up to the entrance of the theater---and the crowds who were standing outside were struck dumb for a moment. They couldn't quite believe what they saw. Then from the hushed crowds came shrieks and gasps and a little laughter.

We were in the lobby the night of the debut of your new car. And we were quite dazzled too. Who wouldn't be? Cinderella's golden coach and Caesar's chariot seemed pale in comparison.

We had heard a great deal about your fabulous new automobile. How it was worth $150,000, and was painted with thirty coats of imported pure essence of pearl oil with added crushed diamond dust to make things sparkle.

We read about its all-glass top and the foot-thick doors and its eight-cylinder motor and the electrically operated doors.

We read about all that and more, and frankly we didn't quite believe all we read--until we saw the real thing.

It was spectacular, all right. And it must be a joy to own. But--and this is a big but, we are beginning to worry whether you kids are driving down the wrong road.

Everyone loves a Cinderella story. Books have been based on it, plays, movies. And when it happens in real life, it's even more wonderful.

Yours was a Cinderella story, Bobby-- or should we say Cinderfella.

When you first started to come to public attention through your fine voice and unique style, Bobby, your success was punctuated by the long and difficult struggle you went through to "get somewhere."

You made no secret of your humble background, or of your sickly traumatic childhood.

You spoke candidly, publicly--and perhaps at times a little arrogantly—about yourself, but the main thing is you were never a big shot about yourself.

The public took you to heart.

The press criticized you for your brashness. But your fans were able to understand it. And as you came up in the world, they cheered. Because in a way, it was happening to them, too. Or could happen to them-- someday.

And when you met and fell in love with Sandra Dee, the fairy tale was complete. For here was the shiny blue-eyed blond princess come to life.

You and Sandy got married and your fans rooted for you both to "live happily ever after"--as the good books of Anderson and Grimm say.

But can you really blame them if they wanted to share that forever after?

However, when you and Sandy returned from your honeymoon, you shut the book tight.

"There will be no further magazine layouts or interviews about my marriage," you said. And Sandy, you dutifully added: "We want our marriage to last and the best formula is to keep our marriage apart from our work."

Even when a dignified critic of one of New York's top newspapers started to congratulate you on your wedding as a means of "breaking the ice," you "glowered" (and we're using the critic's adjective!), "I absolutely refuse to discuss my wife or family."

As we said before--they love Cinderella stories--but like everyone else, they can only lose interest when their idol turns "big shot."

And Bobby, we're beginning to fear that you might be crossing the fine line between the two.

Suddenly we're reminded of two other Hollywood couples. One had backgrounds very similar to yours and Sandy's. The other couple's backgrounds were different—but their actions were the same.

Can you recognize the similarity between you and Tony Curtis, Bobby? He too, was brought up in a poor neighborhood and came up the hard way. He too, was made a star by the fans. And he too married Hollywood's fairy princess of the time, Janet Leigh.

That was 10 years ago. A lot has happened to Janet and Tony since then. But in all this time they never forgot their debt to the public, they never shut the door on their private life, on the press, on photographers.

Tony is a millionaire today—and it's funny but no one resents it. He owns a Rolls-Royce and a gorgeous home, and his own production company—and well just about everything money can buy. And maybe no one resents it because he did it slowly with hard work and a feeling of gratitude and a sense of not really deserving all the good fortune that came his way. Tony and Janet are as popular today as when they first started. Even more popular, in a way.

The other couple we have in mind is Natalie Wood and Bob Wagner. Both those kids were well-to-do. Bob came from a well-to-do family, Natalie was a child star. Both were brought up with money—and love and understanding. Like Janet and Tony and you kids they were discovered and boosted to stardom by their fans. And at first they cooperated to the fullest extent, appreciating and being more than aware of the value of the publicity they were receiving. There was no reason for anyone to suspect that their attitude would change with marriage. But change it did. They hired a high-priced, high-powered publicity firm—and immediately informed the press and the public that their private lives were their own—and they would have no part of any stories or photographic layouts that dealt with anything other than the professional aspects of their careers. In short it was no one's business except their own what they did when they weren't before the motion picture cameras. If anyone tried to "invade" this privacy, he was threatened with law suits. An edict was issued that ail interviews on any subject must be seen and passed upon (or more accurately censored) by either Bob, Natalie or aforementioned high-powered press-agent. And while all this was going on, said press-agents planted items in "the better columns" about Natalie and Bob's expensive new mansion, redecorating plans, and "upper crust way of life." Of course, no pictures could be shown. That would be "invasion of privacy."

Can you guess what happened, Bobby and Sandra? Well, pretty soon the press, fed up with this kind of attitude, stopped begging Bob and Nat to change their minds, and stopped writing about them—period. Natalie began to disappear from covers, and ironically, she was replaced by—you, Sandra. And do you know what else happened? The fans stopped caring. Their collective attitude seemed to be "if Nat and Bob don't care about us, we don't care about them." Their names dropped from the tops of the magazine polls. And the mail asking for stories slowed down to a trickle.

And it's no secret to anyone who read Variety what happened at the box-office. When Natalie and Bob finally agreed to co-star together (forgetting that they too said that they wouldn't mix business and pleasure for the sake of their marriage), the picture, All The Fine Young Cannibals, practically starved to death. It was about this time that Bob and Natalie, realizing the mistake they made in alienating the press and their fans, did another about-face. They posed at home. They agreed to romantic-type layouts. They began to discuss their marriage. Only a very sad thing happened. They couldn't recapture the same interest and popularity they once enjoyed. Because that interest and popularity was now all yours, Sandy and Bobby, to do with as you wished.

That's why we ask you kids to stop-- and reconsider what you are doing to your public--and with your lives. It's still not too late to turn back--and take the other road. You'll still get everything you want—and you'll retain the love and admiration of everyone around you. But we fear if you continue to race at a dizzying pace along the road you're on now, you'll crash against a concrete wall on a dead end street.

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