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In a Manhattan living room one day last week, an eight-year-old boy, his eye on the clock, said: "Mummy, I want to see Howdy Doody." Obediently his mother went to the television set. As the screen flickered to life, the face that appeared was not the familiar, freckled countenance of the famous TV puppet, but the cold, clean-cut face of a man talking Russian. Said the little boy, in a voice foreboding tears: "I want to see Howdy Doody."
"Hush, dear," said his mother. "This is U.N."
"Oh, pooey," said the child....
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