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Ankle-deep in broken glass and broken promises, discarded cigar butts and campaign propaganda, and up to their ears in smoke and conniving, 618 Republicans were trying to get together on selecting their candidate for governor. It was their most red-eyed, bitter and uncertain convention in 30 years...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: CONNECTICUT: The Windstorm | 6/26/1950 | See Source »

...long the three phones rang in a seventh-floor room of Atlanta's Henry Grady Hotel. A pudgy little man answered, shifting a black cigar into a corner of his mouth. "How're you, Jim?" he said. "We all right in your county? You gonna get them out to the polls? Fine. Well, if you need anything give me a ring and reverse the charges." Roy Harris, the man who makes Georgia governors, was busy electing Governor Herman Talmadge to a second term...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: GEORGIA: Pick the Winning Side | 6/26/1950 | See Source »

...dozen bishops and scores of priests to celebrate a golden jubilee Mass in honor of the Rev. Joseph A. Skelly's 50th year as a priest and the 35th anniversary of the organization he founded. Only one man looked forward to the occasion "with much unpleasantness." Brushing the cigar ashes off his black suit, spry, 76-year-old Father Skelly complained: "They've all ganged...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Religion: Fifty Million Medals | 6/12/1950 | See Source »

...lobby-sized green-and-gold Hollywood office last week, a wiry, high-domed man gnawed a massive cigar, paced briskly back & forth, and spewed memoranda in a loud Midwestern twang. Occasionally, hypnotized by his own train of thought, he ducked briefly into an open anteroom behind his desk, to stalk an idea among the stuffed heads of a water hog and an antelope, the skins of a lion and a jaguar, the sawed-off feet of an elephant and a rhino. Working in relay, three stenographers dashed into the huge office to scribble notes, dashed out again to rush...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cinema: One-Man Studio | 6/12/1950 | See Source »

...than he used to be, Zanuck, the one-man studio, still gives a three-ring performance. In a story conference where he plays all the roles of scenes in the making, the bristle mustache suddenly twitches, and the face looks heavenward in horror. The jaw sags until the huge cigar droops from his lower lip like a wet sheet hanging from a tenement window. He leans back across the grand piano in his office. His voice becomes shrill and frightened. This is Zanuck impersonating a virgin in distress...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cinema: One-Man Studio | 6/12/1950 | See Source »

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