People: Made in Heaven

Father Divine set his heavenly hosts a-caroling with a glorious revelation: in order to “propagate virtue” and “give our whole civilization a new birth of freedom” he had taken unto himself a new wife. She was Edna Rose Ritchings, a 21-year-old blonde from Vancouver, but, Father Divine was careful to make clear, she was not “Mrs. God.”

In Edna, declared the ancient (seventyish), roly-poly Messiah, was reincarnated the spirit of his first wife, Mother Divine, who died a few years ago. “Trace your thoughts back to what Mother said,” Father urged his sheep. “She wants everybody to love me. . . .” Also, this was a spiritual deal—”not the marriage of a natural man.”

“There is no mortal marriage,” said the groom, “in the kingdom that I mean united as one family and as one nation indivisible. I mean that this is not a matter of a sample for everybody. . . . But those that are living according to my teaching, they are redeemed from self indulgence and sex indulgence, human affection, lust and passion and all those detestable tendencies.”

The celebrating began in Philadelphia. “It’s wonderful,” cried the banquet guests, and plunged into fried chicken, roast beef, short ribs, fish, seven vegetables, five kinds of bread, ice cream in three flavors, and two cakes. Edna, half a foot taller than the groom, sat quietly at the head table with two red roses in her hair. The happy couple moved on to Newark for another spell of rejoicing. Edna wore artificial gardenias. Over the banquet board glowed a neon sign: “God’s Holy Communion Table.”

Back in Vancouver, Edna’s mother refused to talk to reporters. “Everyone liked her,” said Edna’s father, a fairly well-to-do florist. “She was a fine, healthy girl . . . perfectly normal. . . .”

Propertied Class

Artur Rodzinski, high-strung maestro of the New York Philharmonic, sold the Berkshire Hills farm where he used to raise goats and moved on to a farther retreat near Lake Placid, N.Y. One of the old place’s disadvantages: Pilgrims from the Berkshire music festival had been getting in his hair.

Winston Churchill, whose fame exceeds his fortune, sold his country estate in Kent—complete with a series of lakes—to a “group of friends” kept impenetrably anonymous. But he can go right on living there the rest of his life. Then the friends will hand it to the nation as a memorial.

Adolf Hitler’s prewar luxury yacht, the 375-ft. Grille, kicked up a bidding war among Britons who saw it as a money-making attraction. One bidder thought he had nabbed it for only $306,660; but the Admiralty said the end was not yet. Higher bids were in sight.

Martial Memos

Lieut. General Holland M. (“Howlin’ Mad”) Smith, boss of the Marine Corps island assaults in the Pacific and veteran of 40 years’ service in the Corps, was retired at 64 with the rank of four-star general.

General Dwight D. Eisenhower flew north from Brazil trailing clouds of exaltation and exhaustion. In Rio the fancy hails & farewells (variously involving champagne toasts, oratory, autographs, roast pig and avocado ice cream) had reached their fanciest in the Constituent Assembly. There, while fellow legislators cheered, Dr. Octavio Mangabeira polished off an oratorical tribute by kissing Ike’s hand. Next day one legislator dared to deplore the gesture, promptly threw the assembly into a shocked uproar. Finally, the members took a vote, approved Dr. Mangabeira’s “exceptional eloquence” unanimously—even including the objector.

Marshal Tito was about to get a wish. The U.S. ambassador was returning to Belgrade with something the Marshal had asked for: a genuine Chicago typewriter (Tommy gun) all his own.

Girl Show

Hedy Lamarr suffered the unkindest cluck of all, from a corner of the foundation-garment industry. A sharp-eyed stylist rose to report: her waist is too thick. Also, said this foundation-garment expert: Ingrid Bergman tends toward hippiness, and Katharine Hepburn hasn’t enough of what Carole Landis has too much of.

Libby Holman could rest easy about the worldly welfare of 13-year-old son Christopher, whose father, tobacco heir Zachary Smith Reynolds, was mysteriously shot to death in 1932. An accounting of the boy’s estate—$5,852,194 in 1945—showed it had earned $694,904 in the last year. Ex-Torchsinger Libby received $83,330 for his “support, education and recreation.”

Linda Christian, who makes Hollywood’s pretty side prettier (see cut), got a look at the seamy side. A judge gave her five days in jail for doing 58 in a 25 m.p.h. zone. On her second day of confinement (in the company of some 40 ladies of the evening) she sent word to the outside world. Reported lovely Linda: “The place stinks.”

No Thanks

Court von Haugwitz-Reventlow, who hit the front pages in the ’30s by marrying Heiress Barbara Button, rose from his latter-day obscurity to crush a canard. It was getting around that ex-Wife Barbara had offered him $1 million to give up his part-time custody of their ten-year-old son, Lance. Gritted father: “I would rather lose my right leg. . . .” Then he subsided again into Newport with Wife No. 2, the former Margaret Drayton, granddaughter of Mrs. William Astor.

Dr. Gregory Zilboorg, Manhattan psychiatrist to the gentry (e.g., Marshall Field III, Ralph McAllister Ingersoll), sometime translator (He Who Gets Slapped), was about to be sued for divorce after nearly 27 years. In Reno to do it, wife Ray explained simply: “People change . . . he’s changed. . . .”

Sam Rosoff, millionaire subway builder and longtime contractor in Latin America, on frolic at Saratoga, N.Y., asked a nightclub singer for his favorite song, “South America Take It Away,” and got action. An Argentine visitor objected. Sam, a nimble 63, put 200 pounds behind the punch, knocked him cold.

Literates

Clifford Odets, dead-serious dramatist, made a defense of his Hollywood career: “It is good and even useful to be working in a place like Hollywood. . . . It is a good place in which to get one’s bearings.”

Marcia (The Valley of Decision) Davenport spoke up to complain of the occupational hazards of authorship. Leading her list of 22 complaints: constipation, headache, backache, eyeache, nerves, ill-timed insomnia and somnolence, gas and hips.

Zita Miller, Park Avenue Glamor girl loudly touted as an authoress before she began writing her first book—something sexy about a girl named Flamingo Duval (TIME, April 1)—nearly had to start her career all over again at the age of 19. She 1) finished the book, 2) lost 16 chapters of the manuscript. They turned up a few days later in one of the very best restaurants.

Seats of the Mighty

Queen Elizabeth, out for a rural walk with George and the Princesses near Balmoral, crossed a brook in Glen Cairn, lost her footing and fell. Injuries: “Minor cuts & bruises” on the left leg. The doctor ordered rest for two or three days.

King Phumiphon Aduldet of Siam, brother of the murdered King Ananda Mahidol, planned to get away for a rest. The young Possessor of the Four-and-Twenty Golden Umbrellas decided Switzerland was the best place for it.

The Aga Khan, balanced against diamonds in Tanganyika in a repeat of last spring’s ceremony in Bombay (TIME, March 18), was down a half-pound; but at 243 there was still no cause for worry.