Word: bearding
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...regularly . . ." Fortnight ago, while walking in the garden of his home at Ayot St. Lawrence in Hertfordshire, the 94-year-old playwright fell and broke his left thigh bone. Carted off to Luton and Dunstable Hospital, he soon got into an argument about his 74-year-old once-red beard, which the anesthetists wanted snipped. Shaw won by having the offending whiskers plastered to his face. Next day, in his cream-and-green private room, with his fractured femur fastened together by steel pins, Vegetarian Shaw sat up to munch on nuts and fruit, listened with gusto over a portable...
...promoters who wanted to make a ten to 15-minute film of him giving his farewell message to mankind. Shaw told them: "Quite impossible now. The Bernard Shaw you contemplate is dead, and cannot be resuscitated by an ancient specter exactly like every other old dotard with a white beard, piping and croaking into a microphone...
...Correspondent Randolph Churchill (TIME, Sept. 4), it was the end of a two-week convalescence. Until he was hit by a mortar burst, hardworking, chance-taking Frank Emery had been up front almost continuously. So had Photographer Charles Rosecrans. A dark, wiry little man who usually sported a billygoat beard, 30-year-old Charlie Rosecrans-had covered World War II in the Pacific almost from start to finish, was in Tokyo when a new war sent him to Korea. The third I.N.S. man was young (22), eager Ken Inouye, New York-born son of a Japanese consular official. A fledgling...
...eyes came around, there was blackness before him . . . Hasselborg instinctively shifted his eyes upward toward the top of this blank wall. His mouth sagged open in his beard and his eyes went glassy at what he saw. There was a splotch of red on top of the thing . . . The bloodshot eyes . . . glared down at him from a height twice his own . . . Yes, it was the gigantic bear-the one he had killed but a moment ago. He had forgotten his own precepts about approaching bears until they were dead. And his rifle stood against a bush two steps behind, ineffective...
Martin Merchant, long unwashed, his red beard tangled with sweat and dust, sat on a can of mortar ammunition and savored a cup of C-ration coffee. Three flies took swan dives into the coffee. Merchant looked at them philosophically. "You're not going to drink that stuff now, are you?" a correspondent asked. "Those flies just came off those dead over there in the ditch...