Let's Face It

Two weeks after he wrote a syndicated newspaper column on the death of his dog, Socialist Norman Thomas, six-time loser as a presidential candidate, studied his booming fan mail, ruefully concluded that "I might get more votes as a dog lover than as a Socialist."

A quarter of a century after he started serving 99 years for the 1924 thrill-murder of 14-year-old Bobby Franks, Nathan Leopold wanted out of Joliet prison (his partner in crime, Richard Loeb, was killed by a fellow inmate 13 years ago). "When I came here I was 19 . . . a wild, irresponsible kid," he told the Illinois State Parole Board. "I feel that in 25 years I have matured considerably . . . I am not a kid any more." The board reserved decision.

Cinemactor Clifton Webb was one refugee from Broadway (Sunny, 1925, The Little Show, 1929) who was finding life in Hollywood exactly to his taste (see CINEMA). Being a star again, he confided to an interviewer, was "fun, a lot of fun, and I love it. There's no use pretending I'm a modest fellow . . . Some day I shall write a song called I Fascinate Me"

"The public's musical taste? Bah!" declared testy Sir Thomas Beecham. "The public never had taste--only an appetite . . . They'll listen to anything, just as they'll eat anything, however ill-cooked."

The Literary Life

"The object is to be right on facts as much as possible," declared Author Winston Churchill, who estimates that he has included more than half a million facts in the first two volumes of his memoirs. "It is also important to be right on opinions," he added, "although you can't be caught out so quickly on them."

Lillian Gish, longtime sweet-faced ingenue of the silents, signed up as roving reporter in France and Italy for Theatre Arts magazine.

Harold Ickes, perennial sourpuss of New Deal philosophy, quit all his other writing jobs to concentrate on a new weekly series he is beginning for the New Republic.

Franklin D. Roosevelt, Harry Truman and Abraham Lincoln currently command top market prices--$125 and up--for holograph letters by U.S. Presidents, the weekly Antiquarian Bookman announced. A Herbert Hoover draws about the same as a George Washington ($100 up). Calvin Coolidge and Woodrow Wilson rate around $35 each; Ulysses S. Grant and Theodore Roosevelt, $10. A genuine pre-1945 Harry Truman goes at around $50 the holograph, neck & neck with a genuine Warren G. Harding.

The Laurels

Dr. Ralph Bunche, the U.N.'s successful untangler of Arab-Jewish relations, arrived home in New York to be greeted at the dock by his wife and five-year-old Ralph Jr. Also on the welcoming detail: U.N. Secretary General Trygve Lie and some bored policemen, assigned to handle an anticipated crowd of admirers that never turned up. Later in the week, though, the American Association for the United Nations announced that it was giving Statesman Bunche a scroll for "distinguished service."

General Manager Edward Johnson of the Metropolitan Opera, pressed by Atlanta reporters to name his successor after he retires next year, obliged with a list that included Lawrence Tibbett, Lauritz Melchior and Billy Rose, who loves to give widely syndicated free advice on how the

Met should be run. Cracked Showman Rose: "When Mr. Johnson mentions me as a possible director of the gingerbread monstrosity on 39th Street, I wonder whether he's agreeing with me or just getting even."

In Manhattan, the Perry Awards (Broadway's "Oscars"), for "notable contributions to the current season," were handed out for the third year. The little silver medallions went to Rex Harrison (Anne of the Thousand Days) and Martita Hunt (The Madwoman of Chaittot) for dramatic acting; Arthur Miller for writing Death of a Salesman, and Ray Bolger (Where's Charley?) and Nanette Fabray (Love Life) for their musicomedy performances.

Playboy-Golfer Frank Stranahan, heir to Champion Spark Plug millions, who plays aggressive championship golf for the fun of it (British, Canadian, and Mexican amateur champion), and lifts weights on the side for his figure, bulged a few of his better muscles for the camera (see cut) in Pinehurst, N.C. Then he whacked out a few of his better shots to add the North-South Amateur crown to his collection, for the second time.

Columnist Elsa Maxwell rated first place on Hearstling Cholly Knickerbocker's annual list of the world's worst-dressed women because "she could put on an exquisite creation by Christian Dior or Jacques Fath and look as if she were wearing a sack of potatoes." Trailing Elsa came sexagenarian Musicomedienne Mistin-guett ("Continues to display her gams . . . has refused to adopt the new look"), Alice Roosevelt Longworth ("Doesn't have the time to bother about such things"), Signora Rita Togliatti ("Not born with good taste"), Cinemactress Greer Garson ("Draperies and dresses are not the same thing"), Gypsy Rose Lee ("Looks better in her G-string").

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