Word: gusto
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Conservative Senator Josiah William Bailey of North Carolina, who has been 99% against the Administration except when campaigning for reelection, now recanted his onetime isolationism, ate his words with such solemn gusto that a hushed, impressed Senate clustered around his desk so as not to miss a syllable...
...difference between the indescribable hash E. Power Biggs makes of a Bach Chorale Prelude, and the superb gusto and vigor he puts into a Handel organ concerto, is to me one of the seven wonders. In the latest in the Victor series of Handel organ concertos, the Cuckoo and the Nightingale Concerto, Album M733 he plays most delightfully on the Baroque organ of the Germanic Museum to a spirited accompaniment by Arthur Fiedler's Sinfonietta. The concerto itself is a delightful one, and the whole album as successful a combination of Biggs, Victor, and Handel, as has yet appeared....Anyone...
...Aragonese peasant whose wife claimed kinship to a tattered strain of impoverished Spanish nobility, Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes was born in the bedraggled, hard-bitten village of Fuendetodos, near Saragossa, in 1746. He grew into barrel-chested manhood, fighting ruffians and bulls with equal recklessness and gusto. Brawling and wenching his way to Rome, he studied there the shimmering rococo canvases of Tiepolo and Francesco de Guardi, returned to Madrid to work his way up as court painter to Spain's dissolute Charles...
Looking a bit like John Bunny of the early films, acting with the gusto of W. C. Fields, and to everyone's surprise singing beautifully, Basso Baccaloni was rated by critics as the Met's best acquisition since Kirsten Flagstad. He is only 40, but needs no false belly. Just under six feet tall, he weighs a noble 320 Ib.-result of resigning himself to comedy and enjoying the cooking of his Bulgarian wife. Born in Rome, Salvatore Baccaloni sang as a boy in the Sistine Choir. When his voice changed, he resolved to become an architect, would...
...Philadelphia last week, some 75 experts of the Research Council on Problems of Alcohol held a symposium on the evils of drink. With scientific gusto they tore The Drunkard limb from limb, laid bare his heart, brain, blood, stomach, nerves. They shook his family tree, examined his jail record, dissected his education, wagged their heads over his abuse of Wife & Child. As they drifted out of meetings and refreshed themselves with cocktails, many of the experts confessed that they had no idea of how to cure The Drunkard. Some doctors thought it was a chemical job. Some criminologists said...