Wizards

The road to wisdom and happiness began to look like a greased slide.

From Harvard's ever-ready Anthropologist Earnest A. Hooton (Why Men Behave Like Apes and Vice Versa), the girls learned how to pick a good husband. Thin men, the professor warned, are apt to be mumblers who hate people and tire easily. Two-fisted Atlases stamp around the house complaining about the lack of exercise; besides, they grow old young. The best husband--a nice, sociable type who appreciates the comforts of home--is the fat man, or "butterball type."

From equally ever-ready Psychologist James F. Bender, the men learned how to hang on to their wives. Dr. Bender, director of the National Institute of Human Relations, recommended more thoroughgoing kissing.

From Mohandas K. Gandhi's private secretary, anybody who was interested could learn about the setting of a great man's meditations. "The library" was what the Mahatma called his lavatory, reported the secretary. "It is not merely a matter of nomenclature," he pursued, "but it is so in fact. He has done more reading in his 'library' than an average man does in his lifetime. It is also the place where he has done some of his hardest thinking--I can recall at least three occasions when decisions of a most far-reaching character were either taken or reversed in the solitude of that sanctum, the only solitude that he could have."

Relatives

Into Russia as magazine correspondents flew the Elliott Roosevelts, who got a royal* welcome in Moscow from the All-Union Society for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries (VOKS). Out of Mombasa, British East Africa, bound for New York, steamed a merchant ship captained by Jonathan M. Wainwright V, the General's son, whose charges included an ostrich, a wildcat, a ringtailed monkey, four pythons and six hyenas. Across the U.S. on a lecture tour streaked Randolph Churchill, who was having hair-raising luck. While he was doing 50 on an Indiana highway a wheel flew off, but the car somehow remained right side up.

In London, a model of the proposed Franklin D. Roosevelt statue had a faintly Britannic air (see cut), but a protest that came from a member of the U.S. Embassy staff concerned something else. Roosevelt photographs usually showed him seated, wrote Theodore Geiger, and "Americans are so accustomed to seeing him in that position that a statue of him standing may seem incongruous. . . ." The embassy charge d'affaires, who had approved the design, hurriedly announced that Geiger was just giving his own, unofficial opinion.

Figments

The Average American, a Moscow lecture audience learned from lionized Litterateur Ilya Ehrenburg, guest in the U.S. last summer, is: a dreamer, overly self-confident, but a man of good intentions, and "no fool." He is politically immature, but there is hope for him; his mind is growing.

The Average Frenchman, reported the French periodical Point de Vue, after a painstaking statistical study, is not quite what he used to be. Contrary to popular belief, his name is not M. DuPont at all, but Jean Martin. He used to have a mustache, but he shaved it off about 15 years ago. He is 40, stands 5 ft. 5 1/2 in., weighs 132 lbs., and lives with his wife & two children in a three-room apartment without a bathroom. He smokes a lot, and rolls his own. His favorite drinks: wine and black coffee. His favorite sports: soccer and ping-pong. His favorite fancy dish: pate de foie gras studded with truffles.

Rhythmists

Somehow the universal language of music still seemed the best tongue for musicians.

Jascha Heifetz, popular tunesmith (When You Make Love To Me), defined jazz as "a necessary evil," observed that some of it was good, some just loud, elaborated: "It seems to me it is a multitude of things--swing, hot jazz and boogie-woogie. Just like a rowboat with too many coats of paint."

To an Omaha newsman who asked Artur Rubinstein just how he spelled his first name, the pianist replied emphatically: "For publicity and advertising they have called me Artur. To Hell with it. My name is Arthur." Then in Minneapolis he explained to another interviewer that his legal name was Artur, but he always signed it Arthur because he was "Now an American." Concluded Rubinstein tiredly: "I don't care what they bill me ... just so long as they listen to my music."

In Berlin, a battalion of American MPs had a new marching song, especially written for them by Norbert Schultze, German composer of Lili Marlene. But Composer Schultze was not completely happy about it. "The MPs like the song," said he to the press, "but I'm not particularly proud of it. Anyway, marches always got me into trouble. It was that way with Bombs against England."

Hon.'s

It looked like Frustration Week for legislators.

As an Un-American Activities Committeeman, Congressman John J. Rakin, 64, got nowhere trying to question an astronomer. After a closed session with Harvard's political-minded Dr. Harlow Shapley, who gave him none of the answers he wanted about a handful of left-wing groups, Rankin charged from the room talking about a citation for contempt. "I have never," declared Rankin, "seen a witness treat a committee with more contempt." But it looked like hard sledding for him; no other committeemen had been there.

Senator Theodore G. Bilbo, 69, whose inflamed mouth had now had a long postoperative rest, drove his car into the rear of a truck, came out of it with an inflamed nose.

Senator Scott W. Lucas, 54, of Illinois was in a hospital, being treated for a dislocated spine. The Senator had gallantly stooped over to pick up a package for his wife.

*Figurative language.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.