(See Cover)
In the book-lined study of a red brick New Haven mansion one day last week, a slim, sandy-haired man with a very bad cold sat glowering at a typewriter. Every so often, after a spate of typing, he would spring from his chair, reach for a Kleenex, pace about the room, then stop to consult one of the dozen books he had piled higgledy-piggledy upon his desk. For President A. (for Alfred) Whitney Griswold of Yale University, the task of writing a baccalaureate address was nothing short of agonizing.
It was agonizing...
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