Word: inspector
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...room, a thin, taut refugee and his handsome wife sat before an immigration inspector. The man answered questions rapidly. He was a skilled instrument maker. He had belonged to a union-but never to the Communist Party (membership in the Communist Party is the one sin that the inspectors, under the McCarran-Walter Act, can never forgive). What was his religion? The man and his wife paled with fear. "We are Jews," he whispered. The inspector nodded. Down went his hand-to stamp approval on their entry papers. Speechless, the man and wife arose, reached for their children and hugged...
...Perhaps I Was a Coward." In the next office, another inspector questioned an aging woman in a shabby black overcoat. She was a spinster, a piano teacher. How and why had she fled to Austria? Her answer was confused: she had never been mistreated; she had simply been afraid. The inspector looked at her thoughtfully. Down went his stamp...
...hall sat a third inspector, confronting a big, soft, middle-aged man and his wife. The man was a factory worker. He had never joined a union. How, then, had he kept his job? The man squirmed. Well, he said, it had never been necessary to join. The inspector's eyes narrowed. Had the man taken part in the Budapest revolt? The man looked at his wife. She looked at him. They shared a mutual agony. Whispered the man: "I stayed with my wife in our flat. Perhaps I should be ashamed. Perhaps I was a coward." This...
While Harlow H. Curtice, 63, president of General Motors at $775,400 a year (take-home pay: $121,689), was being received in private audience by Pope Pius XII at Castel Gondolfo, Italy, his big brother LeRoy, 68, a G.M. paint and metal inspector, relaxed in his frame house in Lansing, Mich., happily anticipating his first $63 monthly company pension check after retirement. When kid brother Harlow retires in two years, his pension will come to about $68,000 a year. Said LeRoy: "I wouldn't want his job. Too many headaches. On that job your brain works...
GENTLY BY THE SHORE, by Alan Hunfer (249 pp.; Rinehart; $2.75), deposits the naked body of an unidentified man on the beach at Starmouth, an English seaside resort. The body shows four stab wounds and unmistakable signs of torture. Chief Inspector Gently, Central Office, C.I.D., a Scotland Yard detective who unfortunately pops peppermints into his mouth during tense moments, gives the tale a tone of well-mannered British calm in spite of the neon-lighted boardwalk setting and a lurid cast of characters, which includes a prostitute, a couple of juvenile delinquents, a village idiot and a gang of international...