Where Horror and Heroism Prevailed (continued...)

''OK,'' Beverly Cruse said. The petite Highlands cheerleader recognized Bruce as the boy who went tearing past her down the stairs of the school each day at lunchtime, bolting out the door as if to a fire. ''Who the heck is that guy?'' she had asked her friends.

That's Bruce Rath, they explained. He goes home for lunch. His mom waits for him there.

In ruins: Looking north toward U.S. 27, the collapsed roof of Beverly Hills smolders the morning after the fire. In the top left corner is a round garden and, above it, the club chapel which served as a first-aid and temporary morgue during the fire. Still parked are most of the cars of patrons and club workers.

Margaret Rath inspired in her son a kind of tender devotion not often seen in teen-agers. When a rare disease invaded Bruce's left hip, bringing him to his hands and knees on the sidewalk one day as he walked home from first grade, it was his mother -- a tiny redhead barely five feet tall -- who carried that big boy the rest of the way home.

Bruce had to wear a brace on his leg for six years, learning all the while how to rise above fickle circumstance. He surprised everyone by riding his Schwinn. The diseased hip would keep him out of the service; the U.S. Marine Corps refused to take him. But it didn't keep him from playing football or competing in track meets for Highlands.

That night in the high school canteen, Bruce's hip was fine. His feet didn't even touch the floor as he danced with his dream girl. Bruce and Beverly cut a rug till her date cut in, but it soon became clear that Jim Crouse had lost his girlfriend forever. His friends exacted revenge, blackening Bruce's eye one night as he walked Beverly home. But it did no good.

Beverly wore Bruce's ring, then his track medal for winning the state in pole-vaulting. An engagement ring replaced those childhood tokens of affection the Christmas after Beverly graduated. They were married in September 1957.

The day of their wedding, Bruce worked himself to a frazzle preparing the couple's new apartment for the grand homecoming that would follow their honeymoon in the Smokies. He wanted everything to be perfect, but their apartment wasn't vacant till the day of their wedding.

Frantically, Bruce washed windows, hung curtains and moved in furniture. Then he changed clothes and hurried to church.

As Beverly walked down the aisle, she noticed the face of her betrothed was red as fire.

''What is wrong with you,'' she whispered when she reached the altar.

''I'm so tired,'' Bruce said.

The reception was at the Summit Lodge, where so many entertainers have stayed while appearing at Beverly.

Davidson Packs Them In

The Beverly Hills Supper Club was a bit of Las Vegas in Northern Kentucky, a sprawling entertainment complex with its own resident chorus line and an enormous restaurant.

It was a Northern Kentucky landmark, the self-styled Showplace of the Nation. Several weeks ago, Campbell County High School held its senior prom there. Last night, hundreds of patrons who had paid $13.95 for the Complete Dinner and Show Package -- appetizer through dessert -- packed the place to see John Davidson perform.

Mr. Davidson, the crooner with the big teeth and bigger hair, gazed out from the stage and noted how crowded the Cabaret Room was. He opted not to venture out among the tables as he sang.

Beverly was packed again tonight. A bankers group. A doctors group. A teachers group. A bar mitzvah. Lots of women. Women love John Davidson. He's the only reason Karen came. She was looking forward to tonight.

With Karen were her husband, Terry; Terry's parents, Ethel and L.J., a retired Dayton police officer; Terry's brother, Gary; and Gary's wife, Shirley. It was the first night out for Gary and Shirley since the birth of their child three months ago. The six had dinner reservations at Alexander's, in Miamisburg, Ohio, after the show.

When the group left Dayton this evening, Karen didn't have a care in the world -- except for her father-in-law's heavy foot.