Word: fauntleroy
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Brownell's Puppet? Lyndon Johnson, relaxed, affable, appearing to enjoy the brawl, moved tirelessly around the state on handshaking tours, cracking at Shivers as a "Little Lord Fauntleroy with no place to go." Learning that Republican Attorney General Herbert Brownell had gone secretly to Woodville for a conference with Shivers last month, Johnson cried: "Allan Shivers is nothing but a puppet in Brownell's hands." Blasting away even more lustily was angry Sam Rayburn, who described the Shivers campaign as "rat alley politics" and called Shivers himself a "frustrated, unhappy, desperate man who knows he's going...
...conducted by District Attorney William Travers Jerome, relative of Winston Churchill's. "He struck," cried Thaw's lawyer (who based his defense on "the unwritten law"), "for the purity of the home ... of American womanhood." When Evelyn came to court, dressed like an innocent schoolgirl in Fauntleroy collar and demure chapeau, crowds almost killed her with kindness, and the riot squad was rushed to the scene. The first trial ended in a hung jury, but in the second, Thaw was acquitted on grounds of insanity...
Major Thompson is a retired, red-faced British officer who wears a bowler hat and barks "By Jove!" His name is, of course, Marmaduke, but Humorist Daninos, not wishing to make his countrymen die laughing, has not named the major's son Fauntleroy. The major's first wife, Ursula, was a British horsewoman with a face like a mare, feet like briefcases and that aversion to sex which most Britons have had since they became neighbors of the French. "Do as I did," Ursula's mother advises, "just close your eyes and think of England!" After Ursula...
Thirty-odd years have passed over Hoboken since that day, but what was true then still holds true. Francis Albert Sinatra, long grown out of his Little Lord Fauntleroy suit, is one of the most charming children in everyman's neighborhood; yet it is well to remember the jagged weapon. The one he carries nowadays is of the mind, and called ambition, but it takes an ever more exciting edge. With charm and sharp edges and a snake-slick gift of song, he has dazzled and slashed and coiled his way through a career unparalleled in extravagance...
Below the Salt. The barefoot Venus of Smithfield, N.C. was in some respects an excellent match for the Little Lord Fauntleroy of Hoboken. They had come from well below the salt, and they loved the high life at the head of the table. Ava, who had been chastened in two marriages and on the analytic couch as well, saw through her martini glass more darkly than did Frank. "If I were a man," she told him, "I wouldn't like me." But Frank liked her very much indeed, left home to keep her stormy, full-time company, finally persuaded...