Word: hellos
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...criminals and other suspicious elements roamed the world. These people sometimes resorted to the following trick: a bandit with a small boy would hide under a bridge and wait for someone to cross it. The bandit would send the boy to the passerby, and the boy would say, 'Hello, mister, give me back my watch . . .' Then the armed bandit would appear, and tell the passerby: 'Why do you bully the boy? Give him back his watch and pass over your coat...
...peashooters or TV shows. If so vagrant a method makes things slightly untidy, it also keeps them fresh. Where the method richly pays off is in its not giving Conrad (well played by Dick Gautier) too much houseroom, in its saying bye-bye to him oftener than it squeals hello. In the same way, because a whole rock-'n'-roll call of teen-agers are often banished between aahs, or missing between oohs, they do not grow oppressive. If Dick Van Dyke and Chita Rivera, as the love interest, never quite make love interesting, they often brighten...
...comedians have a trademark, it is "The Living Newspaper," a flexible skit touched off by items in the press. When discoveries of police corruption recently scandalized the Chicago area from Cicero to Lake Forest, a Second City actress would rush onstage each night, frantically dial a number and say: "Hello, FBI? There's a policeman hanging around in front of my house." Virginia's Senator Harry Byrd is nightly impersonated in a minstrel show, puts on blackface and sings: "How I love to pick old massa's cotton." But "the thing I like most," adds Byrd...
...China's rescue. It had been a disastrous year for China: troubles in the communes, the bloody repression of Tibet, Peking's maladroit handling of India, its antagonizing of Burma and Indonesia. It now requires Khrushchev's hardest efforts (he got a smaller hello last week in India than did Eisenhower) to try to retrieve Communism's sagging fortunes in Asia...
...minutes earlier. Groggily, he shrugged into his overcoat, smiled wanly while his wife scolded him for having left his galoshes behind. Then, spotting a cluster of photographers on the platform outside, his eyes took on a ballpoint gleam, and he headed for the vestibule with a big hello-everybody smile on his face. On the train steps he paused, scooped up a snowball and threw it at the photographers. Hubert Horatio Humphrey, 48, was off and running as only he can run, down the tortuous course of the 1960 presidential primary elections. And he was in crucial Wisconsin, where...