Offstage He Is More Like Himself
In the fading light of a hot summer day last week, Adlai Stevenson and a few friends left the Chicago Yacht Club, got into a taxi, and headed back to his living quarters at the Sheraton-Blackstone Hotel. Three days before, Harry Truman had struck. Stevenson was still crowding his hours with visits and visitors, handshakes, receptions, whisperings, conferences. Yet the crucial matters of the moment now seemed strangely suspended, like a mural of some bygone battle posted on a restaurant wall. It was a lovely yacht club, Stevenson mused;...
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