Word: moistness
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Slowly recovering from the hacking cough that has punctuated his speeches and conversation since Inauguration Day, President Eisenhower last week was discomforted by further complications. Striding into his 103rd press conference, the President surveyed his audience through eyes moist and red-rimmed from a stubborn head cold. Tamped into his left ear was a medicated wad of cotton. To newsmen about to ply him with such lackluster inquiries as whether he drinks the District of Columbia's fluoridated tap water (he does), Ike explained that his hearing temporarily was not good (Presidential Physician Howard McC. Snyder's diagnosis...
...Stalinist timeserver named Jerzy Putrament. When Wladyslaw Gomulka broke with Moscow last October, Comrade Putrament was so enthusiastic in Gomulka's support that Pravda publicly rebuked him for saying that he preferred "imperialist Coca-Cola to the best home-distilled vodka." Last month Weatherman Putrament held up a moist forefinger and got the feel of a new breeze blowing through Poland. The country, he said forthwith, was drifting away from Socialism into anarchy, thus creating the danger of "Hungarian tragedies." He accused the young hotheads in the vanguard of Gomulka's national movement of "cheerfully blowing...
...starting line, mist lay heavy over the hilltops, and skis had to be waxed carefully for cold snow. Later the trail wound into warmer valleys, and Gunnar would have to stop and wax all over again. Downhill slopes, where he might ordinarily have picked up time, were sticky with moist new flakes...
...that moment, with the curtain down, an extraordinary thing happened. The audiences, which had sat through the performances in what appeared to be a shocked silence, sat on in silence, without applauding. The elegant Düsseldorf audience filed out quietly, many moist-eyed and with smeared face powder and rouge. U.S. Actors' Coach Paula Strasberg, mother of Susan Strasberg. who created the Anne Frank role on Broadway, described what happened in Berlin: "After the curtain fell there was a deep, dark silence. Not a sound. It seemed to me the people weren't even breathing. It lasted...
...Next!" called the director as he opened the door to let a young man with a tan sweater, a crew cut, and a moist forehead leave. The girl in green, still clutching the script, entered the casting room. The large room was scattered with broken furniture, the floors were bare, the walls empty. The director's welcome echoed against the dirty windows while the producer smiled reassuringly from behind an ancient desk. They chatted for a few moments about the play and the weather--the director, the producer, and the young actress...