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For the first time, it seemed, since the flood, there were real tears in the old battler's eyes, as a schoolgirl presented a bouquet of 80 roses on the parade route outside Jerusalem. Then his car inched slowly forward, as a crowd of some 50,000 gave a rousing birthday cheer to Israel's ex-Premier David Ben-Gurion. "I am only 20," B-G said wistfully. "Four times 20." Though most Israelis were feeling sentimental about their nation's grand old man, Premier Levi Eshkol was not. Having feuded with Ben-Gurion almost since the day he succeeded him in 1963, Eshkol pointedly boycotted the celebration at Jerusalem's Convention Center. B-G wasted no tears over that, however. "Eshkol should be fired," he snapped.
It was a rather basic theory of alienation, or so it seemed to Hungarian Poet Gyula Illyes, 63, at a convention of 200 European bards in Budapest. "The division of humanity characterizing our century began with a very prosaic object: the bathtub," proclaimed Illyes. "One part of humanity bathed and the other did not, and these two categories may not sleep in the same bed or eat at the same table." And things got worse, said the poet, when automobiles came along—"those monsters, those separators, little steel cages, the driver sealed in glacial indifference." Alas, the reasonably well-bathed poets listened and then drove off in little steel cages.
To start, she picked a nag named Hanassi at 8-1 odds, then Mattinata at 100-8, Cutle at 5-1, Bucktail at 9-4, and Damredub at 100-8. For the last race at England's Newbury track, the lady picked Blazing Sky at 7-2 to win the six-furlong Theale Maiden Stakes. Sure enough, Blazing Sky came breezing across to take it by four lengths. "Ah!" cried the Duchess of Norfolk, 50, wife of the realm's premier duke. "How I like Newbury!" Indeed, Newbury had been very kind to her. On a wager of 70¢, her ladyship collected $7,804.34, the tote jackpot, by backing the winners in all six races.
No sooner had Secretary of State Dean Rusk canceled a November lecture at Cornell University because of "conflicts of schedule" than a Vietnik coed fired off a letter to the Cornell Daily Sun charging that the Secretary was plain afraid of all the antiwar pickets his appearance would attract. Cornell Sophomore Richard Rusk sent the Sun a sonly note of his own. "I can assure you that the reasons for his cancellation are legitimate," wrote Richard. "Being on more intimate terms with Mr. Rusk, I think it is possible that the Secretary might muster up his courage and run the gauntlet of Cornell's worst at some future date."