Comings & Goings

Nazi Field Marshal Albert Kesselring, 63, whose death sentence for war crimes (he supervised the bombing of defenseless Warsaw and supine Rotterdam) was commuted in 1947 to life imprisonment, returned to his prison after a ten-day leave, spent with his wife at a Bavarian lakeside resort. It was all "in accordance with normal penal regulations," his British keepers announced; before he went, unguarded, "Smiling Albert" had given his word that he would be back.

George Marshall, 68, was coming along fine after his kidney operation, might even be able to get down to Pinehurst for Christmas with the family.

Alben Berkley was going to spend his Christmas with the U.S. garrison in Berlin, as co-star of a cold-war U.S.O. troupe that included Bob Hope, Jinx Falkenburg, Irving Berlin, Air Secretary Stuart Symington, and half a dozen Rockettes. A Congressman for 35 years, Vice President-elect for eight weeks, Barkley was living up to his new responsibilities: "My time just isn't my own any more."

Barbara Hutton Troubetzkoy, 36, and husband Igor, 36, postponed their Christmas trip back to Manhattan from Paris on doctor's orders: the dime-store heiress and her auto-racing fourth husband had come down with nasty common colds.

Bernarr Macfadden, 80, and third wife Jonnie Lee, 43, his bride of eight months, postponed their Christmas trip from wintry Manhattan to Florida's beaches and a second honeymoon: Bernarr was tied up at the office until January.

Louis B. (Metro-Goldwyn-) Mayer, 63, and second wife Lorena, 41, his bride of two weeks, were right on the beat; breezing through their honeymoon, they arrived in Manhattan, saw several shows, stamped a few rumbas at the Stork Club.

Gertrude Lawrence, 46, returned to the London stage in September Tide, after a twelve-year absence (mostly in the U.S.). "As glamorous and beguiling as ever," Gertie brought down the house, almost tearfully told her worshipers that she would "never, never have such a night again."

Paper Work

Anna Roosevelt Boettiger, veteran newspaperwoman (Seattle Post-Intelligencer, Phoenix Arizona Times), currently collaborating on a radio commentary with her mother, leaped joyously back into the publishing swim as editor of the Woman, a national monthly magazine.

Because the last remnants of the estate of Samuel Insull, farthings-to-millions Midwest utilitycoon of the '20s, were cluttering up the basement of a La Salle Street office building, a Chicago judge ordered the old bonds, canceled debentures, stock certificates, vouchers, receipts, and canceled checks (about 50,000 papers weighing three tons) sold as scrap paper at public auction. Estimated scrap value: $400.

Salvador Dali, supersalesman of limp-watch surrealism, honored Madrid with a visit and modern art with an offer of leadership: "My name is Salvador because I am destined to save modern painting from laziness and chaos . . . The world is going through the middle ages, but a renaissance will follow." He would soon be ready to lead that renaissance: "The world's greatest painters were Velasquez and Raphael --every day I feel I am getting closer to them." There was no challenger. Picasso? "Picasso's works are pseudo-decorative and they all look like rugs."

Brickbats & Bouquets

In the Western sector of Berlin, the city assembly did some strenuous housecleaning. First they voted to sweep the name of Wilhelm Pieck, pink-faced boss of the city's Reds, from the roll of its honorary citizens. Then they went to work on some moldering skeletons in the back closets. Also wiped from the honor roll: Hitler, Goebbels and Goering. Second-Reich President Paul von Hindenburg survived.

In Parliament, Britain's blustering Minister of Health Aneurin ("Nye") Bevan got called to personal account for the high cost of socialized dentistry. Demanded M.P. Frank Medlicott: "Has the minister calculated how much of the greatly increased expenditure is caused by the fact that every time he makes a speech there is widespread gnashing of teeth?"

In Hollywood, newshens of the Women's Press Club voted Errol Flynn and Rita Hayworth* the "least cooperative" actor and actress of the year. Runners-up: Bing Crosby (a perennial) and Shirley Temple. The "most cooperative": Dorothy Lamour, past mistress of the sarong, and Glenn Ford, Rita's most recent screen leading man.

Frank Lloyd Wright, venerable panjandrum of modern U.S. architecture, finally (at 79) got grudging recognition from the august American Institute of Architects (of which he is not a member): their 16th Gold Medal Award in 42 years. Apparently, it had not been unanimous. Blurted the Westchester (N.Y.) chapter: "His achievements do not entitle him to join the company of such men as McKim [Boston Public Library], Post [Wisconsin State Capitol], Bacon [Lincoln Memorial], Goodhue [Nebraska State Capitol], Cret [Washington's Federal Reserve Building], and Sullivan [Chicago's Stock Exchange]."

Chinese Communist Mao Tse-tung, whose troops were overruning a land of 460 million people (see FOREIGN NEWS), had just about cinched the title of Communism's Man of the Year. At a party rally in Sofia, the cheers for the name of China's strong boy were just as loud and just as long as those for Stalin.

The Atomic Energy Commission's Chairman David Lilienthal swung wildly before the Denver Rotary Club. First he jabbed "those who would have us believe that two or three atomic bombs would render the United States uninhabitable." Then he hit "the campaign to make us believe this is 'just another bomb' . . . Deliberately setting out to downgrade the bomb is the worst." Then he flailed away towards the east: "Frankly I am getting damn well tired of those people in Washington and the opinion factories of New York who are forever trying to tell the American people how they should feel, what emotions they ought to have."

* For other news of Rita's press relations, see PRESS.

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