Word: tycoons
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Despite a wheezy plot that must be older than Gary Grant, Walk, Don't Run has the ageless advantage of Grant himself, a galloping 62 and perfectly cast as the anything-but-tired tycoon. A sort of magnate cum laude, Grant herein relinquishes his customary Romeo role to play Eros by proxy, and no man could play it better. Instead of making passes at his luscious roommate, Samantha Eggar, he sublets half of his half of her apartment to a lanky Olympic race-walker (Jim Mutton) and starts showing the younger generation how one thing can lead to another...
Family Saloons. Royko remembers his boyhood as just the right background for a future columnist. Born in a middle-class Polish neighborhood, he got to know the city by tagging along after his father, a "tavern tycoon," who bought and sold one saloon after another. As he grew older, he graduated to important jobs, such as transporting money for a bookie operating out of one of his father's taverns...
...cans. The Austrians laid claim to some sort of verbiage prize with an entry by one Curt Stenvert. It consisted of a gilded skeleton sharing a glass case with a sexy mannequin, knee high in artificial flowers and covered with photographed tattoos. Title: 38th Human Situation: As a Deceased Tycoon to bequeath your Charming Widow your own Gilt Skeleton...
...right. Frank Sinatra, 50, and Manhattan Barkeep Jilly Rizzo were helping Singer Dean Martin celebrate in the Polo Lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel when an argument started with the fellow at the next table, Fred Weisman, 54, retired president of Hunt Foods and brother-in-law of Tycoon Norton Simon. As Frank first told it, Weisman beefed about the noise at Martin's table. "The guy was cursing me," said Sinatra, "and using four-letter words. I told him, 'I don't think you ought to be sitting there with your glasses on making that kind...
...which seems every bit as long as it is. Its narrative pace is numbing, its style is deafening, its language penny dreadful. All the characters whirl like dervishes, especially Dirk Struan, a kind of Scottish superman who can borrow $5,000,000 in silver ingots from an Oriental tycoon, invent binoculars, and corner the world supply of cinchona bark, all without breathing very hard. Well, almost. His Scots accent wavers a bit under stress: "Damned if he'll get away with it, Will! He'll no get awa' with...