"Look into me eyes, me dove," says Herman to Shelley Fabares in his latest MGM movie.

      Herman's Hermits have met countless thousands of teenagers during their various tours of the United States. For example, at Steel Pier in Atlantic City last summer, a total of more than 70,000 fans attended the group's exhaustive, week-long series of record-breaking performances - and that was just one engagement in a schedule that was to take them to New York, Philadelphia, Hollywood and a dozen places between.
      Many little incidents come alive during an average tour. And they can be very affecting, such as the time Herman signed an autograph for a little crippled girl in a wheelchair. She could hardly talk, but she managed to say, "Th-thank you ... -and God bless."
      However, strangely enough, the most touching example of Herman's sincere compassion occurred regarding a teenage boy he has not, to this day, even met!
      It happened something like this . . .
      The boy's name is Billy Kurts and he's 14 years old. I know him personally and can say authoritatively that he is a brilliant youngster. But during the past two years, he's had more than his own fair share of heartache. Many months ago, his father died of a heart attack and the shock was overwhelming. However, this was not all, for Billy went to a hospital in Washington D.C., just one week after the funeral, a visit that was to stretch out over a period of several months.
      No place else provided any hope, any promise of relief from the problem that was bothering Billy - his eyes. He had great difficulty seeing and had been to half a dozen specialists but none of them seemed to know what was wrong. Then came his father's death in the midst of all this, practically shattering whatever emotional stability the boy had left.
      At the hospital, the first of many operations was performed. It helped a little, but only a little. Then the fact that the medicine he'd been taking caused a severe reaction in his metabolism. He gained weight, frighteningly so. And was forced to wear a brace to keep his back up straight.
      One heartache after another.
      And always, in the background, serving as a constant source of sadness, was the memory of his father, the gentle, understanding father who had been so close to him, so kind.
      Billy's father had worked as a florist at a store in Hammonton, New Jersey. His window displays had been works of art, amazing in their beauty and intricacy. At Christmas, he wowed passersby with his creativity, blending mangers with stars and make-believe snow and a dazzling sunset as a backdrop, all fashioned from flowers, all done with the gentle guiding hand of a master craftsman.
      Just before Christmas two years ago, he died . . . at home . . . with a bouquet of his beloved flowers beside him. Billy's mother found him there in his bedroom. Almost instantly she knew the truth, because when she spoke to him, there was no answer, only a terrible silence.
      All this - the problem with his eyes, his father's death, the steel brace on his back - was the nightmare of sadness and pain that Billy's life had become.
      "Most of the time he would just stay in his room," Mrs. Kurts told me not too long ago. "He would look out the window and watch the other children playing and he would come to me and cry, 'Mom, Mom, why do I have to go through this? What have I done?' Sometimes, just to get him out of the house, I would ask him to go to the store with me and help me with the groceries.
      "What with John, my husband, gone, it was a difficult time for us. It still is, but Billy's learning how to adjust now. Each day, he says something that makes me sit back and wonder at his maturity, his grasp of reality. Rather than retreat from life, he's learned to embrace it and face the future.
      Perhaps the factor of greatest importance in Billy's long, hard walk from a dark period of bitterness, and loneliness is his new interest, his new aspiration.
      He wants to be a drummer.
      More than anything in the world.
      And this desire has given him the impetus to fight the depression and melancholy that still envelopes him every time he looks at his father's portrait and realizes that the kind, understanding man in that picture died two years ago.

      This brings you up-to-date and fills you in on the background of our little story.
      Herman entered Billy's life in a really wonderful way, a way even more touching when you consider that, as mentioned earlier, the two of them have never met.
      For Christmas last year, Billy wanted one present above any other.
      A set of drums.
      His mother was determined to get them for him - even if she had to go without winter clothes for herself. "Billy lived to see those drums," she told me recently. "If I didn't promise them to him, he might have been hit too hard emotionally. He'd seen too much disappointment already and I wasn't going to let it happen again."
      Knowing Herman quite well, I thought of another plan. Discussing it with Nola Leone at the Connie DeNave Agency, Herman's public relations representative in New York, I found that they were agreeable to getting Billy the drums. Nola called Herman, asked him about it and he replied by saying, "Sure, go ahead, Nola. The lad's been through a lot. He deserves the set."
      That was it.
      When Herman was in New York a few weeks later, he talked to Billy. Their conversation lasted fifteen minutes; it proved to be the most memorable in Billy's life.
      Why did Herman do this?
      Later, I talked it over with Nola Leone and she told me exactly why: "He's a sweet boy. Where other big-name entertainers become stuck-up and snotty, Herman's remained down-to-earth and really quite humble. He's helped lots of youngsters and does a great deal of charity work. It's just the kind of guy he is!"
      . . . the kind of guy he is.
      Herman and Billy have kept in touch with one another, by letter and an ocassional phone call whenever Herman's in New York. This summer they may meet in person for the first time, if Herman repeats his record-breaking appearance at Steel Pier.
      A lot has indeed happened to Billy, the stuff of which answered prayers are made. The brace is gone, the eyes are a little better, the sadness has mellowed. On his bedroom wall are two frames of metal and glass. Behind one is a picture of his father . . . behind the other, a picture of Herman.
      When you hear of The Rolling Stones' rude and vulgar behavior and the bad manners of certain other groups, you appreciate even more greatly the value of what Herman has done. You feel proud of the way he's helped 14 year old Billy Kurts.
      The teen who owes Herman everything.