In the dining room of Mexico City's unfinished Prado Hotel stood Muralist Diego Rivera, critically studying a wall. President Alemán himself had ordered that the city's toniest hotel be completed in time for November's UNESCO conference, and all around Rivera's paunchy figure carpenters and electricians bent noisily to the presidential will. But Rivera's own share of the work, he at last decided, was done. An assistant handed him a round brush wet with yellow paint, and Rivera quickly added a few touches. Then he thrust his soft little hands into the pockets of his dungaree jacket and walked away. He was...
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