"Many years ago," observed Maine's Senator Margaret Chase Smith, 66, at a dinner in Manhattan, "the word square was one of the most honored words in our vocabulary. The square deal was an honest deal. A square meal was a full and good meal. It was the square shooter rather than the sharpshooter who was admired. What is a square today? He's the fellow who never learned to get away with it, who gets choked up when the flag unfurls. There has been too much glorification of the angle players, the corner cutters, and the goof-offs. One of America's greatest needs is for more people who are square."
Pittsburgh Financier Andrew Mellon built Washington's $15 million National Gallery of Art in 1937 to house the $50 million art collection he assembled with the aid of Dealer Joseph Duveen. His son, Paul Mellon, 57, a perceptive critic in his own right, has assembled a second superb collection of 18th and 19th century British painting. Now it looks as though the younger Mellon will build another public gallery in Washington for his 500-odd works of art, which are now hung in Mellon's various homes except when the paintings go on tour. Last week he appointed Dennis Farr, 35, a curator of London's Tate Gallery, to plan the project.
Manhattan's Doctors Hospital, a fashionable stork pad for East Side society, was dismayed. But West Side Story Star Carol Lawrence, 30, was determined. After taking a $40 stamina-building course in what its fans these days call "educated childbirth," she wanted that "do-it-yourself feeling." So she did it and felt it, and two weeks after 7-lb. 9-oz. Christopher was delivered, she held a press conference to tell about it. "It beats any show I've been to," trilled Carol, who had stayed awake all through her own production and was later told by her doctor, "You did that with great flair." The hospital wouldn't let her husband, Singer Robert Goulet, 31, in on the act, but that was just as well, since he had refused to take the educated-fatherhood course.
He's accustomed to being called a philanderer, but when he was labeled a philanthropist, Richard Burton reacted as if it were a dirty word. The ruckus started when Bertrand Russell's "Peace Foundation" announced that Burton was giving it all his British earnings. Not so, cried Richard. He had merely donated a few pounds and did not agree with Lord Bertie's anti-American jeremiads. In fact, deadpanned the actor, he gives most of his loose pence to the Invalid Tricycle Foundation of Wales (for crippled miners). Wife Liz had a different challenge. For a Lido opening in Paris, the invitations specified evening pajamas, and half the haut monde came in lace or sequined trousers. Not Liz. "I.wear slacks to work," she sniffed, threw on her gold lame sari by Balenciaga, and discovered that in spite of being so old-gown, she rated Table Numero Un between two boulevardiers who could afford to clothe her in pure gold: Aristotle Onassis and Baron Guy de Rothschild.