Word: balding
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Died. Walter Duranty, 73, bald, wooden-legged (from a 1924 train wreck), Pulitzer Prizewinning (1932) New York Times foreign correspondent (1913-39), novelist (One Life, One Kopeck), autobiographer (I Write as I Please), longtime (1921-34) No. 1 Timesman in Russia and No. 1 Russian apologist in the U.S. (when Stalin doomed some 3,000,000 peasants to death from starvation by withholding grain, Duranty wrote: "You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs"); of a stomach ailment; in the Orlando, Fla. hospital where he last week married his second wife, Anna Enwright, widow of a Florida judge...
...dine with the family in his elegant Avenue Foch apartment. (Madame Gaillard, widow of one of France's wealthiest financiers, has two children by her previous marriage, a son by this one.) His chief handicaps: a malicious wit-"Nothing outside, nothing inside" was his verdict on a bald colleague-and the widespread feeling that he is a coldly ambitious golden boy "sunk in upper-class surroundings...
Lacking a royal family to twitter about, Washington society made do last week by hoking up a heart flutter between Mrs. Alben Berkley, 45, widow of the onetime Vice President, and cue-bald Speaker of the House Sam Rayburn, 75. Bachelor (since a brief 1927 marriage) Rayburn, who squired the lady to Senator Lyndon Johnson's 49th birthday party last week, was not talking, but Jane Barkley was: "For heaven's sake! I enjoy his company immensely, and that's that...
...Just Honestly." Loyal fans were not dying to have them go. They would not soon forget bald, bulb-nosed-Kukla and mischievous Ollie. the one-toothed dragon who could not breathe tire because his father swallowed too much water swimming the Hellespont. Or sensitive Fletcher Rabbit, who complained when he washed his flop-ears: "I can't do a thing with them," or Beulah Witch, who was arrested for reckless broomstick driving on Halloween, or their foil and sweetheart Fran Allison, the only live character on the show, with her infectious Midwesternisms ("Wouldn't you just know that...
Seen superficially, Arthur Winner needs no more education. He is a successful lawyer in his 50s, a figure of Roman rectitude, a bald, grave patrician, sage and self-contained. In his middle-sized home town of Brocton (possibly located in Pennsylvania), he belongs to a comfortable upper class that has the attitudes if not the acreage of landed gentry. Within a 49-hour period, fissures of revelation about Winner's closest friends-and about himself-rip open this safe and stolid world, and almost swallow...