Word: sunsets
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...with the dealers, who have their own ideas of what a painting by the country's best-known "primitive" should look like. When Grandma paints a picture that seems not quite in character, her dealers sadly send it back. One such reject hanging over her mantel shows a sunset above a Western canyon, with a log cabin in the foreground. "What one likes," says Grandma philosophically, "another don't." Another of her favorite rejects is a storm scene, with black clouds lowering in a pink sky. "Dr. Kallir [one of her dealers] wants me to change...
...crammed but meticulously neat workroom of his modest, flower-banked home on a hill overlooking Hollywood's famed Sunset "Strip," Stravinsky is now writing an opera (with Poet W. H. Auden) fashioned from Hogarth's The Rake's Progress, and has just finished a Mass to "appeal directly to the spirit. Therefore, I sought very cold music, absolutely cold. No women's voices. They are by their very nature warm; they appeal to the senses...
Hollywood, which is no place to be bald in, is an excellent place for people who claim they can cure baldness. Red-haired Patricia M. Stenz runs a hair and scalp clinic across the street from Hollywood's "Radio City" at Sunset and Vine. She has a theory that all baldness is caused by a fungus. A bald head, says Miss Stenz, is something like athlete's foot, at the other end of the body; it runs in families, as athlete's foot does, not through heredity but because sons catch it from their fathers...
Lanky, gawky Bob Falkenburg, who has a pretty sister (Jinx) and a fireball serve, made himself unpopular at Wimbledon last week. In the semifinals, he alienated the fans by kneeling with his head down on the grass like a Mohammedan at sunset, or just lying prone at the baseline to rest for the next point. London's press arched an eyebrow at his "curious mannerisms" and "irritating demeanor." Explained Falkenburg: "I was tired...
...fourth day, planes spotted the leaders about 100 miles northwest of Bermuda. In the lead was Royono, a big yawl from the Great Lakes, practically becalmed. Henry Taylor's big yawl, which couldn't be found at all, was 45 miles due west of Bermuda. Just before sunset, Taylor's oldest son peered through the haze and said: "That looks like Gibbs Hill Lighthouse." It was. As darkness settled down that night, Baruna got her breeze. It was not much more than a breath, but it pushed her slowly through the darkness. By coming in Bermuda...