To President Eisenhower one day last week Clare Booth Luce submitted her resignation. Taking global view from a vantage point high atop towers of Manhattan's fabled, fantastic Rockefeller Center was mellowing mate Henry R. Signposts pointed to a clear and tragic dilemma, resolved only by judicious sacrifice by Clare, chic and civic at fifty-five.
In the politico-national sphere, horse-trading proceeded at a marey pace. Longtime Lucenemy Sen. Wayne Morse, Oregon egghead, failed in a gauche bid to mass ouster votes. Appointment won overwhelming approval in the Senate, world's poshest club.
But crux of the dilemma rested on the finely-felted shoulder of Timeditor Luce. Globally viewing with alarm, he messaged his trimly serene wife she must resign lest Timempire acquire politically biased repute. Clearly, she agreed that personal ambition, plus loss of her finely-honed talents, must yield to the greater, world-wide, propagation of truth, untainted.
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Hillbilly Music
