Word: likes
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Ripe for Laughs. In a red plaid sports cap and corduroy trousers full of holes, the bird man was soon out on Commonwealth Avenue collecting crowds in skeptic ranks. In his hands he carried what looked like two thin aluminum cricket bats. Around his neck was a lanyard from which dangled a long aluminum tube. The trees were ripe with starlings; Mount Vernon was ripe for a laugh...
Thomas Anthony Dooley III, 32, was doing what he liked best. Born to affluence in St. Louis, he had become a Navy medic, been caught up in the soul-searing 1954 evacuation of anti-Communist refugees from North Viet Nam, returned to Asia to set up hospitals in the remotest parts of Red-threatened northern Laos. There, three months ago, "Dr. Tom" was trudging along a snag-strewn jungle trail from his hospital at Muong Sing, only five miles from the Chinese border, to make a "house call" when he fell and bumped his right chest. It felt like nothing...
...doctor, the patients and the treatment given at the Clinique Générale la Prairie, overlooking Switzerland's Lake Geneva near Montreux, are all remarkable. The physician is Dr. Paul Niehans, '77 (though he looks more like 60), who declares: "I reject nine out of ten would-be patients. I choose persons who represent a certain value to the world by their individual prominence." Among the chosen have been the late Pope Pius XII and the Imam of Yemen (treated in Rome), the late King Ibn Saud, Painter Georges Braque, Somerset Maugham, Gloria Swanson, the King...
...minimum fee for a single injection, most goes for the raw material, he says, leaving him $30. For aged or debilitated patients, and for doctors elsewhere who want to use the method, Rhein-Chemie in Heidelberg packages dried cells (average cost: $5-$10 a vial). "It's like the difference between fresh milk and powdered milk," explains Dr. Niehans...
...lean, commanding character of Shakespearean tradition. Brought to the stage of Britain's Stratford Memorial Theater by Cinemactor Charles (Mutiny on the Bounty) Laughton last week, King Lear was an eye-rolling, tongue-lolling, hand-scrabbling, dirty old man. Above a billowing green gown that looked like a collapsed circus tent (but still could not hide the hefty Laughton paunch), the famed suet-pudding face was almost obscured by a wild halo of home-grown white whiskers and an unkempt shoulder-length mane of home-grown white hair. For the Bard's buffs, the sight and sound...