Word: beals
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Even before its publication date last week, a new, closely detailed biography of John Foster Dulles was embroiled in the kind of pundit-blown dust storm that recurrently swirls about the U.S. Secretary of State. Much of what is told in John Foster Dulles (Harper; $4.50), by John Robinson Beal (TIME'S diplomatic correspondent in Washington), had been told before, but two points in the book were enough to precipitate the storm. Reported Author Beal: ¶Dulles last year canceled the proposed $56 million loan to help Egypt's Dictator Nasser build the Aswan Dam because...
From these exchanges, some pundits drew the conclusion that the Secretary of State and the President had knocked down Author Beal's two points. Taking a cool look at the week's furor, however, the New York Times concluded that Secretary of State Dulles had "left Mr. Beal's central thesis substantially unchallenged.'' As for the Quemoy-Matsu question, the Times pointed out: "Mr. Beal's book did not say that President Eisenhower had made a 'commitment.' The burden of Mr. Beal's report was that Chiang had misgivings about...
...long weeks of political debate, the Eisenhower Doctrine was wrenched into so many debatable pieces that the U.S. all but lost sight of the remarkable meaning of the whole. From Washington TIME'S Diplomatic Correspondent John Beal this week explained this meaning in the first story of how the doctrine evolved from scratchpad to policy...
Robert Montgomery scored with a taut production of Robert Wallace's The Long Way Home, starring John Beal as a Connecticut commuter stricken with a heart attack as his train pulls out of Grand Central Terminal. What gripped the viewer, as it did the readers of the original LIFE story, was Real's it-could-happen-to-you helplessness at the hands of strangers: the well-intentioned conductor who let him off the train at a deserted station where he faced a seemingly endless climb to reach the street, a calloused cop who thought that Beal was drunk...
...Cares?" All too often she found that her students had no desire to learn. Whatever wit they had, they directed mostly to thinking up excuses for being late ("I was dreamin' about ya, Mrs. Beal, an I didn' wanna wake up"), and finding ways to resist vocabulary drill ("So who cares? I say a woid like dat an all my frens laugh at me. Nobody know what dat woid means"). Almost every class had its sullen and defiant pupils who would yawn, lounge, drum, stamp, and wander about at will. Whether they worked or not, they knew that...