Word: sundays
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...Darryl F. Zanuck told the New York Herald Tribune's Columnist Art Buchwald how he rated Author Ernest Hemingway as a movie critic. Film in point: Zanuck's screen version of Papa's The Sun Also Rises (TIME, Sept. 2). Hemingway was quoted in the London Sunday Dispatch as saying: "I saw Darryl Zanuck's splashy Cook's tour of Europe's lost-generation bistros, bull fights and more bistros. It's all pretty disappointing, and that's being gracious. You're meant to be in Spain...
...gossipists a field day. They variously reported that Philip gave the Queen a piece of jewelry designed by himself, a big bouquet of white carnations, a gleaming electric kettle that puckishly seemed to combine a private joke with their "tin" anniversary. Parlaying the secrecy, London's Sunday Express knowingly surmised that the royal family was shocked and dismayed when Princess Margaret skipped out for a theater party, failed to appear at the palace festivities until just before they ground to a midnight halt...
...best punters in the East this fall. In the debacle. Gundy still managed to out-punt Princeton by seven yards a try. "When one of my boys like Bill gets off a good one." chuckled Father Fenton. "I don't care if the congregation is big the next Sunday...
Nibbled to Death. Many fast-growing papers, such as California's San Bernadino Sun and Telegram (combined circ. 58,076), which cover the biggest county in the U.S.. fence metropolitan competitors with networks of string correspondents, special editions for local communities, one of the city-slick Sunday magazines. Says the publisher of a small-city Midwestern chain: "You have to be the plus paper." Through such tactics, Michigan's middlesized dailies have pared more than 100,000 Sunday circulation from Hearst's Detroit Times. Laments a metropolitan newspaper executive in Atlanta: "We're being nibbled...
...literary theme is the decline and fall of practically everybody, delivered in a tone that wavers between a yawp and a whimper. At the GHQ of the San Francisco poets, a tiny joint on Grant Avenue known simply as The Place, the non-squares were invited to gather on Sunday afternoons to "snarl at the cosmos, praise the unsung, defy the order." Poet Rexroth first carried the snarls into the jazz clubs last winter. "Poetry," he argued, "is a dying art in modern civilization. Poetry and jazz together return the poet to his audience...