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...years ago Agatha Christie produced a play, The Suspects, which never got past Tremont Street on the road to New York. Like the shrewd inspectors who dot her novels, however, Miss Christie is not so easily foiled by one failure. In her latest mystery, Witness for the Prosecution, she again tries to solve the riddle of how to write a good play, and if in the end the prize escapes her, she has at least managed a substantial improvement in technique...
...miles south of San Francisco, hard by the Pacific shore. So far, only 900 of the development's planned 3,500 homes ($9,500-$! 1,500) have been built and occupied, but bulldozers are hard at work gouging out lots on the hillsides, and scores of concrete foundations dot the valley floor. Despite its unfinished state, the whole community was hustling and bustling one foggy morning last week. Like millions of other youngsters across the nation, the 350 children of Linda Mar were trudging off to the first day of school...
Emperor Hirohito, Son of Heaven, last week took his first airplane ride. Dressed in light blue with a red polka-dot tie, he sat diffidently through the flight in a curtained-off compartment opposite his little, moonfaced Empress Nagako and pored studiously over an airline map, nodding from time to time as a stewardess announced the landmarks passing below...
...missionary all her life. While Missionary Turnbull and his son labored in the mountains above Port-au-Prince to build a church, parsonage, school and dispensary, Granny went ,"on trail." Outfitted in a tropical helmet and web belt with water flask, she would visit the tiny thatched cailles that dot the ravines and mountains. She told the surprised Haitians about the dispensary and the need to come immediately when they were sick or hurt. She told them about the school. And wherever she could she would wage a persistent Protestant war against the voodoo gods, Papa Legba (who is interlocutor...
...drives out of the rolling hills of the Holyoke Range past the white clapboard houses of the upper Connectient Valley into the sleepy little town of Amherst, Massachusetts, one is immediately impressed that here is a New England Village still in the original. Shade trees dot its broad, green common stretching away to the right and the left. Clustered among the trees on a knoll sit a group of New England type brick buildings dominated by a white-spired chapel...