Word: button
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Margot Fonteyn-Dame Commander of the British Empire,* star of Covent Garden's Royal Ballet, top ballerina of the Western world-cast a large, limpid brown eye through her camera view finder and pressed the little button. A flashbulb's white glare froze a busy scene against the black of a tropic night on the Gulf of Panama, in the Pacific. Dame Margot's husband Roberto ("Tito") Arias-scion of one of Panama's 20-odd leading families and recently (1955-58) his nation's Ambassador to the Court of St. James...
...girls dashed into the heavily curtained back kitchen, cried: "Now!" A grinning, red-haired schoolmaster called Glyn ducked between lines of drying laundry, flicked a wall switch, punched the playback button on a battered tape recorder, and darted back, screwdriver in hand, to his homemade 80-watt transmitter. And out into the night, on BBC-TV's Channel 5, went the Freedom Station's call signal: the sound of a pencil tapped three times on a saucepan...
...Ibsen, Pirandello and Wedekind, and commented that "Giraudoux has been not neglected, but so often misinterpreted that it's worse than neglect." Jean Genet to Tynan is "a natural, who shouldn't be imitated... He's a bad model but an interesting artist"; Eugene Ionesco is "bright as a button, but he's not a messiah of the drama...
Tomorrow, if scientists have their way, Air Force heroes may all be ground-bound, button-pushing missilemen. Today these heroes are still the crinkle-eyed young men wearing silver wings, the plane jockeys who earn their day's pay at a high scream-somewhere around the speed of sound. Their quick, death-weighted decisions would scare a six-gun cowpoke back into the saloon, and the wonder is that their work is still a rarity on television. But last week televiewers had their fill of flying-in both fact and fiction. And even when Air Force technical advisers were...
Secondly, there is the Crisis Principle. When the disarmament question seemed ripe, a group sprang up, only to begin withering soon after. And of course, our Presidential elections provide a period crisis for campus politicos. When there is a red-white-and-blue button to wear, a sticker to put in the windows, a speech to hear, a leaflet to hand out, then students flock to the clubs. Often, new groups are formed. Dean Watson fully expects a Students for Nixon, for Kennedy, and for whoever else strikes the student fancy, to appear in the next year...