Word: gibbs
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Snug in her cozy Suffolk home, small, bright-eyed, merry Lady (Dorothea) Gibb read an article by famed Soviet Journalist Ilya Ehrenburg exhorting his fellow Russians to hate the Nazis harder than ever. To so devout a Quaker as 83-year-old Lady Gibb, such talk was abhorrent. She penned a note to Comrade Ehrenburg, told him he was filling Russian minds "with something very old and evil, a thirst for vengeance after victory. . . . This does not bring happiness to the victor but only leads to sorrow and evil in the future...
Back from Author Ehrenburg came an adamant reply: "Respected Lady Gibb, you are just mistaken in charging me with particular vindictiveness. As a son of my people ... I am voicing our common sentiment. You say, strange lady, that evil cannot triumph. That is true because ranged against evil are human beings...
Last week Lady Gibb learned that Ehrenburg's letter to her had been printed in the Red Star, had started a furious correspondence from Red Army men & women. Sapper Pikalov was moved to strike off a poem titled War on Lady Gibb...
...part is the one he lives and works in his capacity as leader of the company. With corncob pipe in mouth and a copy of the play in hand, he takes the audience by the arm and points out the simple charms of Grover's Corners. He introduce the Gibb's and the Webbs; Joe Crowell, the paper boy; Howie Newsome, the milkman. He shows you Simno Stimson, the drunkard organist, whose life is like a pathetic symphony with a tragic coda. These are the common folk of "Our Town," brought to life you by a sincere and enthusiastic cast...
Yale's reunion classes plodded out to the field through the rain, saw the weather clear off, were amazed by the stellar pitching of Eli Ted Horton only to see their hopes shattered by Gibb's winning clout...