THE SENATE: Death of the Tiger

His wiry frame tensed for combat, his glance imperiously stern, his mustache visibly bristling, his arms formidably laden with books, the lean, dapper man strode briskly to his Senate seat. "Mr. President," his utterly confident baritone voice rang out, and then for two hours, three, four, and once for a marathon 22 hours and 26 minutes, Wayne Morse lectured, harangued, infuriated and often educated his fellow Senators. Sometimes they fled the lesson, and Morse addressed an empty floor and gallery. But it scarcely fazed him. For he was sure that he was...

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