Word: drummond
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Adds William Drummond of the Los Angeles Times: "I don't ask for special privileges from militants because I am black." Neither is he about to seek special privileges from white editors. At 25, Drummond has a masters degree from the Graduate School of Journalism at Columbia University, and he is taking courses at U.C.L.A. toward a Ph.D. in economics. "You have got to base your future," he says, "on more than just a shortage of black reporters...
Married. Phyllis Field Drummond, 30, daughter of the late Marshall Field III, heir to the Chicago department-store empire and publisher of the Chicago Sun-Times; and Louis de Flers, 35, general manager of a French chemical firm; she for the second time, he for the first; in Ridgeland...
...adversaries have undergone some renovations too. In the first Drummond adventure, Irma was described as a sultry brunette who spoke in silent-movie captions ("Mon Dieu, you ugly man! Tell me why you are such a fool!"). In this film, she is introduced as the svelte blonde secretary of an oil magnate who maintains his executive offices in a private jetliner. "Your cigar, sir," murmurs Irma (Elke Sommer), as she extracts a plump Corona from her ruffled cigarter. The boss lights up, draws deep, looks faintly startled as the cigar explodes a .38 slug that rips through the back...
Britain's Bulldog picks up the lady's scent when she arrives in London to collect her fee from the late magnate's chief competitors. She offers him a cigar; this time it is too slow on the draw, and Drummond tails her to a rendezvous with her boss, the inevitable master criminal. In his previous incarnations, Carl Petersen was presented as a fiend "whose inhuman calm acted on Drummond like a cold douche"; in this film, he is introduced as an Oilfinger (Nigel Green) who extorts a tribute of terror from the big petroleum cartels...
...last reel, Drummond destroys the nasty fellow and his felonious female assistant with the aid of a booby-trapped hairpiece and a colossal computer-controlled chess set. The kids may welcome all this automated mayhem; the oldtimers will simply conclude that poor old Bulldog has lost his bite...