Word: regalness
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...only main room entirely bare of sculpture was the busy one fitted up as a one-man stock exchange, complete with both Dow-Jones and N.Y. Stock Exchange tickers, where Billy speculates in regal solitude (Rose began his career at 17 as a shorthand stenographer for that dean of speculators, Bernard Baruch). Shrugging back the shawl collar of his bulky white cardigan to expose the embroidered red "B.R." on the breast of his black polo shirt, Rose said he hoped to fill the empty places in his mansion with more antique furniture. As for his garden: "I may glass that...
...silver-trimmed black uniform, tall, courtly Governor General George Philias Vanier, 71, first French Canadian to serve as the Queen's Viceroy in Canada (TIME, Sept. 21), had arrived to open Parliament. In the crowded Senate chamber, he read his first Speech from the Throne. By his side, regal in red velvet and diamonds, was his handsome wife Pauline...
Died. Ada Everleigh, 93, regal co-madam (with her late sister, Minna) of Chicago's lavish turn-of-the-century bordello, the Everleigh Club, which boasted a bevy of demure girls, string music, perfume-squirting fountains and a 1,000-volume library at a price of $100 for a "mild evening," was finally closed by severe reformers in 1911, sending the millionaire sisters off to retirement in Manhattan with a golden piano and a few other mementos of the good old glittering days; in Chicago...
...nameless artisans. But so potent is Exú that even making his image is rarely undertaken except by direct appointment by the Orixás (gods). Top Bahian devilmaker today is Reginaldo Andrade Costa, 28, a part-time garage mechanic who agreed to make them only when a regal candomblé priestess known as a mãe do santo (mother of the saint) explained that the iron figures were harmless until "blessed." His raw material is scrap iron, but Costa's crudely formed statuettes are striking embodiments of evil, have the authority of images born of the terror...
...Bergner played on her audience with the familiar, huskily resonant voice (she practiced in her hotel room, crying sharp, staccato "ha, ha, ha's" up and down the scale), the erectly graceful carriage, the suddenly confiding smile. In stunned silence, the audience watched her run the gamut from regal pride to jaded irony to a kind of enervated despair. Said a damp-eyed Bergner in her dressing room afterward: "Most of the generation who used to know me are dead or disappeared. It's so terribly touching...