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Security for Zoé? At this heady point a sobering word came from famed Physicist Dr. Frédéric Joliot-Curie, who tends France's atomic pile, known as "Zoe," at Fort de Châtillon. It was "nonsense," he said, to claim Saint-Sylvestre's uranium strike as the world's richest. The Belgian Congo fields were yielding a 50% ore. However, Saint-Sylvestre's pitchblende deposits, though not yet fully explored, were of major importance. They might keep Zoé going without imports...
Rushing into his socks and shoelaces, he considered his shirt. It should be stimulating in view of the Big Day, and he fingered through the pile of pinks and yellows, No, what he needed was something else, and he put on a size 14, starched, button down--certainly stimulating and well nigh painful...
...weekly heap of dirty clothes is a problem that varying Harvard men solve in varying ways. Some carefully pack their laundry in neat cardboard cases, lug them down to the Post Office, and then spend weeks in squalor and grime waiting for the return mail. Other pile their clothes in the washbasin and alternately serub and sneeze until a dazzling brightness is attained. But most undergraduates shoulder or dispatch their wash to Cambridge laundries which charge up to $18 to fray cuffs off of shirtsleeves...
...week. Their employers, the trustees of Manhattan's St. Patrick's Cathedral, offered them a raise of about 3%. The gravediggers turned the offer down, and negotiations came to a stop. On Jan. 13, they went out on strike, and the coffins began to pile up at Calvary. After burial services, the coffins were laid down in shallow uncovered trenches. Last week when the number of unburied dead topped 1,000, the cardinal called out his seminarians. Tightlipped, he rode his gravediggers through the cemetery's picket line, while a silent union man respectfully touched...
City Full of Jazz. At night, the hot, insistent rhythm came at him from every direction. In the daytime, there was jazz in the streets. Band members would pile into advertising wagons (with the trombonist on the tail gate for freedom of reach) and engage in music battles with other bands; the winner was chosen by acclamation and rode off with crowds following. At Negro funerals, the bands played to & from the cemetery-doleful spirituals on the way out, such frenzied affirmations as High Society and Oh, Didn't He Ramble! on the way back...