A. & P. Heir Huntington Hartford, 38, heretofore known chiefly as yachtsman, playboy and young man about models (in 1947 he started his own agency), went in seriously for the arts. He filed formal application with the Los Angeles City Zoning Commission to build and endow a 20-building, $150,000-a-year "School for Genius" on 41 acres in the nearby Santa Monica mountains. The prospective student body: recent university graduates in the fields of writing, painting, sculpture and music.
Old Soldier George Marshall came back to Washington after three weeks of convalescence from a kidney operation, was about ready to get on with his new job: chairman of the American Battle Monuments Commission. His predecessor: the late John J. Pershing. His new offices: the Pentagon suite which Black Jack never got to use.
Comedienne Beatrice Lillie, currently cleaning up on Broadway in Inside U.S.A., got herself all dolled up in a black taffeta maid's uniform complete to feather duster, to sweep up a few laughs at Manhattan's annual March of Dimes fashion show.
Major General Vasily Stalin, long-lipped son of the boss, who commanded Moscow's May Day air parade, was working his way up: he was now commander of all Red air force units in the Moscow district.
With a straight face, the Tulsa Trades Council (A.F.L.) nominated a little group that it would like to see take the first rocket trip to the moon. Sample nominees: Westbrook Pegler ("because of his ability to report true facts"), H. V. Kaltenborn ("for his ability to accurately analyze new developments"), Fulton Lewis Jr. ("for his ability to expose shoddy administration").
Sounding Off
Walter B. Pitkin, glum champion of happiness (Life Begins at Forty), announced that he would take no notice of his 71st birthday: "There won't be any candles on the cake because there won't be any cake. I never celebrate anything, not even Christmas. Every day is the same to me." When the big day came, he was still working hard at his newest guide to success, Make Life Worth Living.
Novelist Somerset Maugham was given a belated 75th birthday party by Manhattan's Overseas Press Club. He blew out a single candle and offered a serene opinion on Britain's future: "There can be no reason to fear for the nation so long as the women of England retain their magnificent virility."
Bouncy Betty Mutton, playing hostess at a birthday party for Victor ("Beautiful Hunk of Man") Mature, lent her celebrated lung power to help him blow out the candles. Later on, she let it be known that in a forthcoming movie she would take a fling at the role of Ophelia, in a strictly jive version of Hamlet. Sample lyrics, written for her by Frank (Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition) Loesser:
He bumped off his uncle
And he mickey-finned his mother
And he drove his girl to suicide
And stabbed her big brother
'Cause he didn't want anybody else but
Himself should live;
He was what you might call
Uncooperative.
Swinging Low
Heavyweight Champion Joe Louis, who lends his name to a soft-drink concern, and Welterweight Champion Sugar Ray Robinson, who runs a Harlem tavern, got smacked down cold when they applied for a wholesale beer license. The New York State Liquor Authority explained that World Champions, Inc., for which Louis and Robinson were fronting (president and chairman of the board), is tied up with a Chicago outfit controlled by a onetime Capone mobster. But both fighters broke clean on the case, the report added: "There is no indication . . . that the integrity of either Joe Louis or Ray Robinson can be questioned." Later on in the week, Joe took another body blow. In Chicago he announced that he had agreed to a Mexican divorce by wife Marva, mother of Jacqueline, 5, and Joe Jr., 14 months.
Director Roberto Rossellini's firm decision to shun the Hollywood sausage factory (TIME, Feb. 7) crumbled before the spiel of a master salesman. Sam Goldwyn announced that they would work together on an Italian production. "Mr. Goldwyn," Rossellini explained, "is a terrible seducer." But Ingrid Bergman, who will star in the picture, thought that she knew one way to keep the new partner under control: allow him on the set only "as a visitor. And if you come," she said, looking meaningfully at Goldwyn, "we shall tie your hands. Also"--she finished with a gesture that meant a gag over the mouth.
Britain's intense, blonde Cinemactress Ann Todd (The Seventh Veil, The Paradine Case) and intense, topnotch British Director David Lean (Brief Encounter, Great Expectations) finished up the first movie that they have made together, an item called The Passionate Friends. Then Ann, 39, married ten years and the mother of two, was named corespondent in the divorce suit brought by David's wife; David, 40, married ten years and childless, was named corespondent in the divorce suit brought by Ann's husband.
The Nizam of Hyderabad, anna-pinching Richest Man in the World, felt the pinch of 20th Century economics. The Indian Government, which took over his Minnesota-sized state last September, decided to split up his 7,000 square miles of land (which had been tax free, and had produced an annual income estimated at $9,000,000) into small parcels to be divided among its 17 million inhabitants. To compensate, the government would double the Nizam's yearly allowance (now about $3,000,000), and probably would leave intact his personal hoard of gold, jewels and cash (value: $2 billion).
Quiet, Please
Golfer Ben Hogan, 36, was in the hospital with a broken pelvis, collarbone, rib and ankle, and other injuries received when a Greyhound bus piled head on into his 1949 Cadillac near Van Horn, Tex. The doctor thought Ben would be able to play golf all right after, a long convalescence, but whether he would ever burn up the links again, "only time will tell."
Mohamed Reza Pahlevi, 29, pro-Western Shah of Persia, who recently divorced his beautiful Empress Fawzia (TIME, Nov. 29) because she bore him no sons, was slightly wounded when a would-be assassin, a Newspaper photographer, fired five times at the ruler. The Shah got off with one bullet through the cheek (no bones broken), one across the back, and three through his hat.
Army Secretary Kenneth Royall, 54, reviewing the First Cavalry in Tokyo, sprained his ankle while clambering into a recon car. After a shot of painkiller, X rays and tape, he continued gamely, limping in ankle-supporting G.I. field boots. A couple of days later, in Osaka, he was obviously feeling better: inspecting a mess hall, he exercised the prerogative of high brass by gobbling down a whole apple pie with no help from anybody.
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