Word: mellower
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...William H. Alexander bounced springily around Oklahoma last week. His mellow voice swung low to squeeze a tear, lifted lightly to pick off a laugh, soared high with holy indignation. "In this crusade," cried Bill Alexander, as background music from a choir swelled behind him, "I see the magnificent march of the living God and I hear the thunder of His feet." He meant that he was running for the Senate against the Democrats' quiet, able Congressman Mike Monroney...
...trying to prove Dean Acheson's wishful point that the Russians might become good boys some day (see above), the Russians were being relatively mellow at U.N.'s General Assembly. Andrei Vishinsky opposed the U.S. plan for widening the powers of the Assembly, but he was less vitriolic than usual. Jacob Malik, the Relentless Rudolph of last month's Security Council sessions, softened to the point of telling one reporter to remember the Russian word nichevo. "It means," explained Malik, " 'don't worry, things will turn out all right...
...treat: Eleanor Roosevelt made her musical debut as the narrator in Prokofiev's symphonic fable, Peter and the Wolf. The First Lady emeritus, who had arrived to rehearse only that morning, read her score (solo passages underlined in black ink, lines with orchestral accompaniment in red) with a mellow distinctness, never missed a cue. The audience called her back for five rousing curtain calls. Said Conductor Serge Koussevitzky ecstatically: "Now the First Lady of the world is not only a grandmother to her own grandchildren, but, through her participation in Peter and the Wolf, a grandmother to the children...
Already some of the radishes have been eaten. In the opinion of the proctor they are "delicious and mellow." "I wish people would stop picking them, though," he added...
Sung as only Flagstad can sing, with her gorgeous, earth-mother quality of sound, The Four Last Songs (Going to Sleep, September, Spring, At Sunset), were echoes of the old composer's most mellow and memorable days. They spoke of a calm tiredness, deep autumnal peace, affection for his wife. At Sunset ended with a quiet and resigned interrogation: "Is this perhaps death?" As the last soft sounds died in the orchestra, one listening musician said, "What an epitaph to write for oneself...