Before his battle with the Kennedy family was joined over The Death of a President, Author William Manchester, 46, and his publishers, Harper & Row, pledged to deliver most of the book's profits to the John F. Kennedy Library, planned for construction at Harvard University. In the first installment toward an eventual contribution of $5,000,000, author and publisher presented the library with $750,000 in royalties from the more than 1,250,000 copies sold so far. Said Jacqueline Kennedy in accepting the gift: "All the pain of the book, and now this noble gesture of such generosity makes the circle come around and close with healing."
Quick with both his rhymes and rages, Soviet Poet Evgeny Evtushenlco, 34, had a few angry verses after he learned of Dr. Benjamin Spock's conviction for conspiracy to incite draft evasion. In a poem titled "Monologue to Dr. Spock," Evtushenko proclaimed that there is far more sense in the "eternally constant goo-goo of a child than in the whole generation of shameless politicians." A fine sentiment, though it lost a bit in the translation. Russian for "goo-goo" is "ary."
Consider that rogue Italo Bombolini, the shrewd, Machiavellian mayor who outwits half the German high command and successfully spirits 1,320,000 bottles of vintage vermouths and robust red wines from the Nazis in Robert Crichton's best-selling 1966 novel, The Secret of Santa Vittoria. Indeed a difficult part for an actor, calling for a subtle combination of gentle foolishness and hardheaded Italian moxie. So naturally Producer Stanley Kramer picked an Irishman, born in Mexico, who hails from Hollywood: Anthony Quinn, 52, who has been studiously preparing for his role as the rascally wine merchant by tippling Cinzano at his villa south of Rome and working it off with a fast set or two of tennis.
"This strike could last five years," growled Broadway Impresario David Merrick. 55, "and there'll be nothing left of the theater when it's over." By the second night of a strike by the Actors' Equity, Broadway was dark, and all 19 of its shows were closed. At that point, Mayor John Lindsay, an avid theater buff himself, made an entrance in answer to a union appeal, and hosted all-night negotiations at his Gracie Mansion residence. Finally, the surprise ending: settlement of the strike (terms: weekly wage increases of $15-$25, protection of U.S. actors against replacement by aliens) and reopening of all but three of Broadway's shows—which had been about to expire anyway. Explained Merrick: "Actors always have to be very dramatic, and they just wore me down during the negotiations. About 3 a.m., you begin to make concessions that you might not make when you're not that tired."