Word: passion
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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While his practical art is cinema reviewing, Brad Darrach's passion is writing, a craft at which he is so meticulous that if he had time he would probably want to cut his copy in stone. He was writing stories at the age of four, poetry at 15, and at the University of Pennsylvania (A.B., 1942) he did his senior college paper on philosophy in verse. A sometime insurance investigator, schoolteacher, newspaper reporter (Providence Journal, Baltimore Sun), he came to TIME as a writer in 1945 and has been our principal Cinema reviewer for some ten years...
...before him were zamindars. In his youth he lived carelessly on inherited wealth, imagining that it would last forever. But the rising middle class was not careless, and soon some of the zamindar's neighbors were richer than he. Partly to assert his superiority, partly to gratify his passion for music, he took to regaling his acquaintances at lavish musical evenings. When his dutiful wife warned him that it was costing too much to pay the piper, he waved her away. "If I cut corners I shall lose face...
...Down on the Riviera, beneath a floppy straw hat, sits a contentious and indomitable press lord, Britain's Lord Beaverbrook, keeping an alert eye on his London Express, working on his 13th and 14th books and still full of rage and passion at 84. He is interviewed in PRESS...
...with Passion. But even running four newspapers-the Express, the Sunday Express (a separate newspaper), the Evening Standard and the Glasgow Evening Citizen-cannot absorb the Beaver's tremendous energies. Only this spring he took a second wife, the former Lady Dunn, widow of a lifelong friend. He was as excited as the youngest swain. "I am very glad to get her," he said. "It isn't often when you get 84, and find yourself still interesting to a woman." He has just published his twelfth book, The Decline and Fall of Lloyd George. Like most...
...words may be true as far as they go, but they hardly go far enough. No one activity has ever been able to contain the Beaver's passion; it burns in everything he says and does. "I am the victim of the Furies. On the rock-bound coast of New Brunswick," he said, recalling his Canadian youth, "the waves break incessantly. Every now and then comes a particularly dangerous wave smashing viciously against the rock. It is called The Rage. That's me." On reaching 70, a nice round retirement number, he thundered: "I'll not give...