Lucius Beebe, U.S. journalism's most rococo columnist, went digging for facts in Colorado, after his fashion. To mine material for another nostalgic book about his hobby, railroads, locomotive-loco Lucius, assisted only by his Manhattan roommate, a photographer, and a small, hardy retinue, braved narrow-gauge trails in a private railroad car (b. circa 1870). Like the Englishman in the jungle, Prospector Beebe dutifully dressed for dinner every night. The grub: caviar, foie gras, pheasant, champagne.
Randolph Churchill, plump columnist-son of Winston, readied himself for a more Spartan venture than Beebe's. He was about to make a winter-long lecture tour of the U.S., in a new Lincoln, with one chauffeur and one secretary. Interviewed in Manhattan,. Journalist Churchill refused to comment on Elliott Roosevelt's observation (in As He Saw It) that "for young Churchill, conversation is strictly a unilateral operation." He also refused to comment on Sister Mary's rumored engagement to Belgium's Prince Charles. Said Journalist Churchill: "It's nobody's business. ... I think there should be five freedoms—Freedom from the Press. ... I know I'm fighting a losing battle against the press; but I like to feel I'm doing my little bit."
Something in the Air
Here & there, it somehow seemed more like spring than fall:
James E. Folsom of Alabama, who stands 6 ft. 8 in. and claims to have kissed 50,000 women during his recent campaign for the governorship, paid a visit to Hollywood, proudly demonstrated his politicking (see cut).
Senator H. Alexander Smith, 66, running for re-election in New Jersey, said he would campaign this week by helicopter.
Back for More
Buster Keaton was about to be a comedy star again, for one picture at the very least. The sad-eyed Great Stone Face of the silents was making his latest comeback try in Mexico where audiences prefer their comedians pathetic. Turned 51 last week, Keaton had just finished his first Mexican picture, hoped soon to make another. He looked about the same as ever, and so did the picture: The Modern Bluebeard, or My Trip to the Moon. It had everything from life-adrift-at-sea to mistaken identity and ordeal by cops.
Emmy Sonnemann also made a try at a theatrical comeback, but it was no go. Actress Emmy—who shot to fame by becoming Frau Hermann Göring—got no further than a denazification board, which turned down her application to get back into show business.
The Way It Is
Manuel Rodriguez, 28, sensational Spanish matador known to the world's aficionados as Manolete, stopped in Manhattan en route to Peru for the winter season, cleared up a little something for a local reporter. What right had he to the title, "the foremost bullfighter"? asked the reporter. "I am the most graceful," explained Manolete carefully, "the most artistic, the most technical, and the most courageous bullfighter."