Word: lectern
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...students huddled in the rain, waiting for the voice that would soon come through the loudspeaker. Inside Bovard Auditorium, 1,500 more waited in their seats. Finally, Professor Frank C. Baxter, dressed in a 20-year-old dark blue suit, mounted the podium and took his place behind a-lectern piled with books. As the murmuring and chattering stopped, the professor began to read...
...short intervals. After a summer's light mail, her correspondence was beginning to swell. But modern Margaret Clapp, whom only the staunchest Wellesleyites had heard of two years ago, seemed already to be an old hand. As she conducted her first chapel, almost lost behind the great lectern, it was as if she had been a president for years. Wellesleyites decided that Margaret Clapp, in their chosen phrase, already looked like a well-rounded "First Lady...
First, Maggie got them into a receptive mood with some Debussy, Fauré and Duparc songs. Then, on a darkened stage, with only a bare black backdrop for scenery, she marched to a lectern and began to narrate: "Behold Faust in his cell . . ." After a few more words in Poet Spender's potpourri of prose and poetry, recapping Faust's learning in "alchemy, and, alas, theology," she froze into a catatonic stare, and Faust, followed by Mephistopheles (Bass Arthur Newman) came on to sing (excellently). By the time the audience rushed out for air at intermission, they...
...year's work, a bearish character dashed onto the New Lecture Hall platform, interrupting with a shout. "Professor Romans has said enough!" In the pretense of presenting a gift (in the form of a neatly ribboned box, which later proved empty) this individual seized control of the lectern and proceeded to read four pages of unhumerous and disgusting parody. His arrogance survived even the dismay of Professor Romans, the boos and the shouts of contempt and disapproval of some four hundred angered students...
After the introduction, Dr. Edith Sitwell strode on stage and up to the lectern. She did not, as some had predicted, arrive on broomstick, astride a lion, or floating on a stream of gurgling honey. She was clad in her poetical uniform (as publicized in Life): a long, green dress, heavy coils of silver around her wrists, and a floor-sweeping, golden cloak with slits for her hands, which clutched her two books, and a large, black, and jarringly prosaic leather handbag...