Walters & Hartz
I don’t care what anyone says. At 7 in the morning I can only face two things: a glass of orange juice and Barbara Walters.
Jim Hartz “Mr. Ultra Bland?” Never! If we wanted Wolfman Jack at that hour of the morning, we’d picket NBC. We’ll do just fine viewing Jim Hartz’s calm, quiet manner—and oh, that 14 karat smile.
How could you picture that brilliant intelligent journalist, Jim Hartz, with such a nincompoop!
Charles R. Knisley
Yonges Island, S.C.
I resent the currently popular attitude toward Barbara Walters: to label her as an abrasive personality. It is very possible that this sniping is a reflection of the resentment some male writers may feel toward a woman who has proven her ability to hold her own in what once was an almost exclusively male domain.
San Luis Obispo, Calif.
The Paris Review
It’s all very tantalizing to learn that the Paris Review has left Paris and returned to New York, but Steuben, Maine doesn’t seem to have been on its itinerary. How can I get a subscription?
Write the Paris Review, 45-39 171 Place, Flushing, New York 11358.—ED.
Duchess of Windsor
I read with considerable interest your article about the Duchess of Windsor. Our Southern girls have caused quite a stir both in U.S. and world history—Nancy Langhorne (Lady Astor), Margaret Lea (Mrs. Sam Houston), Ravina Howell (Mrs. Jefferson Davis). What is their secret? Charm, wit, grace, and the ability to make the male of the species feel 20 feet tall, which beats the devil out of some of today’s “liberated women.”
Jack L. Rogers
Otto Kerner, ex-governor of Illinois, goes to jail! So tell me about it. Have you seen this “prison?” What I want to know is how the hell you get a membership in this country club? Anybody who escapes has gotta be nuts.
John J. Lyons
Kerner is prisoner No. 00037-123 at the federal correctional institution at Lexington, Ky., a minimum security prison. Because of a heart condition, he is confined to the medical building. The prison has no golf course.—ED.
I can hardly wait to tear into my kids’ dress-up box, and resurrect my old high school chemise dresses. Then I will gather up all my neat slacks, rip out the inner leg seams and make them into long skirts. Then I should feel like I’m “in.” Right? Wrong! I’m tired of the Great Coutouriers trying to rip me off—or out!
Bay Village, Ohio
I’m sick and tired of seeing articles on what supposedly will be “in fashion.” Open your eyes. Most of us don’t care what St. Laurent, Givenchy, Ungaro, Cardin or any designer dictates. We wear whatever we want.
Vicki G. Machado
Yves St. Laurent agrees (see Bio in this issue): “What is important in a dress is the woman who’s wearing it…not the design itself.”—ED.
Off The Screen
Brilliant! Just wanted to thank you for ruining my greatly anticipated reading of Jaws by giving away its outcome in a lousy four-line caption.
Relax. The plot has a lot more twists than the caption revealed.—ED.
What did the author of Jaws, Peter Benchley, think about having his novel rewritten?
Benchley wrote the movie script himself and “on directions from the boss” changed the ending to make it happier. He is taking it all philosophically.—ED.
Regarding your photo of Dick Gregory on his mission to dramatize world famine and malnutrition: I hope he is a better jogger than speller. Since when is Chicago spelled Chciago? Gregory had better change his shirt or at least the spelling before he gets to Washington.
Dick Gregory had 25 of these T-shirts made up for his 800-mile jog and says he didn’t even notice the misspelling himself.—ED.