Letters, Dec. 22, 1947

(2 of 3)

. . . Custodian of U.S. security, articulate exponent of the atomic age, David E. Lilienthal. Behind the curtain of AEC security measures, he is doing a job of greater importance and consequence than anyone anywhere in 1947. Applications of atomic energy in industry and medicine are more enduring contributions to progress in this or any year than forensic effort.

MICHAEL MILTON

Detroit, Mich.

Sir:

. . . Bill Jones, the white-collar worker . . . because of his sincerity, hard work, and, above all, his PATIENCE !

ELIAS BULL

Cordesville, S.C.

Sir:

. . . The Prime Minister of the Dominion of Canada, W. L. Mackenzie King. Under his firm guidance Canada has risen to take her place among the great nations of the world. . . .

HARRY E. GOVE

Cambridge, Mass.

Sir:

. . . Robert M. Hutchins . . . the world's foremost educator [who] has worked untiringly for peace and international understanding, is ... coordinator of nuclear research . . . and Chancellor of the University of Chicago. No other man can equal his record of selflessness and humanitarianism.

RICHARD HULLVERSON

Chicago, Ill.

Sir:

. . . Henry A. Wallace . . . who has brought us to a realization of the Red Menace. . . . His rantings unwittingly brought the issue to a head. . . .

F. J. PENNISI

Brooklyn, N.Y.

Sir:

Secretary of State George C. Marshall . . . should win the distinction. . . .

JOHN J. GATTAS

Clarksdale, Miss.

Sir:

. . . Philip Mountbatten [Duke of Edinburgh], who rose from almost obscurity during 1947 to become the husband of the future Queen of England.

ROGER EMERSON

Lake Worth, Fla.

Sir:

. . . J. Parnell Thomas, who, with his House Committee on Un-American Activities, has done most this year in the usurpation of civil liberties by government.

PETER ROSENBAUM

Winnetka, Ill.

No Cigars

Sir:

It was with utter amazement that I read about the smoking of a big, black cigar at the opera by Mrs. Cleon Throckmorton. Mrs. Throckmorton is my sister. Mrs. Throckmorton and I have been going to the opera since we were little girls of eight and nine, when our father, the musical critic, Algernon St. John Brenon, took us to hear Parsifal.

Thereafter, we were taken regularly by our parents to the opera as part of our education, which was very rigid and very circumspect. We were never allowed to leave our seats ... to stroll in the lobby with our more sophisticated friends. We were never allowed to go into the refreshment room, save at Christmas time for a holiday ice. . . .

We wore long white kid gloves, bangs, and white dresses with pink and blue sashes. The opera was a polite and serious affair. In subsequent years, in going to the opera we have always felt it to be something of a rite, and it was with a feeling akin to guilt, even in later years, that either my sister or myself entered the refreshment room for a discreet cup of coffee.