A columnist with the professional disposition of a rabid porcupine, William Connor of London's spicy Daily Mirror (circ. 4,500,000), who writes as Cassandra, watched 1½ TV performances of a U.S. pianist visiting England in 1956, then upquilled. "This deadly, winking, sniggering, snuggling, chromium-plated, scent-impregnated, luminous, quivering, giggling, fruit-flavored, mincing, ice-covered heap of mother-love," fumed Connor of Wladziu Valentino Liberace. "He is the summit of sexthe pinnacle of Masculine, Feminine and Neuter. Everything that He, She or It can ever want."
Last week, three years after he wrote the column, Columnist Connor...
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