Word: button
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Just a year ago, the work of Jules Feiffer, 29, a slight, introspective New York cartoonist, was appearing only (and without pay) in the Village Voice, a furrowed-brow Greenwich Village weekly. Now Cartoonist Feiffer is up to his clean, button-down collar in offers from publishers. One book of his cartoons is a bestseller (5,000 copies a week). He appears in the London Observer, dashes off magazine ads and features (Playboy, SPORTS ILLUSTRATED), is discussing a screenplay for Director Stanley (Paths of Glory) Kubrick. His income tax for 1958 will be more than his entire income...
...shocking thing that can be said about the Harvard hockey team is that its record is now five wins, six losses and two ties--not counting the scrimmage with the Russians. With tough matches coming up against Providence, Dartmouth, Northeastern and B.C. you wouldn't bet your last Eisenhower button that the team will finish with a winning record...
With a press of a button, the wife of the U.S. ambassador started the fountains going, and one by one, led by Prime Minister Nehru and his daughter Indira, the distinguished guests made their way by the dancing water. They mounted the great marble steps, crossed the terrace paved with smooth white pebbles from the banks of the Ganges, passed beyond a series of slender golden columns, and disappeared behind the great golden-studded white screen. Then came the inspection of the air-conditioned offices with their doors of teak, the elaborate servants' quarters, the great aluminum shade through...
George and Marjorie Button lived a soft and pleasant life in Los Angeles. They owned two Cadillacs, splashed in a heated swimming pool, entertained 1,500 guests a year in their $100,000 house. Five pages of pictures highlighted them as a "lucky" U.S. family in LIFE'S "Special Issue on the American Woman" (Dec. 24, 1956). They shot elephants in Africa, spent holidays in Hawaii, toured the Holy Land, knocked about Europe...
...again and again, snaring silver-colored bars of uranium 235 from the bottom of one pool and guiding them gently into the other. As they did, a gauge of amber-colored numbers shot up and up. Near by, another figure stood ready to halt the proceedings by pushing a button marked SCRAM. Directed the squawk box: "Insert H-6." As the last bar moved into place, an amber smear shot across the gauge, the radiation count soared to a million a second -and an atomic blaze sprang to life. Thus the nation's first large, privately owned test reactor...