Last year Yoko Ono asked more than 50 heads of state to donate trees, bushes and paving stones to a section of Central Park that will be refurbished in memory of John Lennon and renamed Strawberry Fields. "It will be a garden of love," Yoko has said of the three-acre tract, which she can see from the window of her apartment. At a press conference last week, Ono announced that "the response has been overwhelming." Thirty-two countries, including the U.S. and the Soviet Union, have agreed to make contributions, and NASA, she said, has offered to donate a seedling germinated in space. Some of the paving stones will be used to construct a round terrace. "The world already has a Lenin Square," she explained. "Now it will have a Lennon circle. It's a gift from John to you."
To prove he's available to his constituency, Jerusalem Mayor Teddy Kollek is listed in the local telephone directory, and since TIME magazine printed the number in a recent profile, Kollek's phone hasn't stopped ringing. Because of the time difference, most calls from abroad have come in the middle of the night. One weekend last month, for instance, Hizzoner was awakened by a call from Australia. "What can I do for you?" asked Kollek. "Nothing," responded the caller from Down Under, who just wanted to see if he could get through. "My own mayor," he explained, "I can't get."
Watt's the Problem?
When US Air Flight 298 from Pittsburgh to Washington was delayed for more than two hours because of the freak April blizzard, Interior Secretary James Watt, who had been attending a Republican fund raiser, sat out the delay in the airport's VIP lounge. The plane was finally cleared for takeoff, but Watt refused to board. Seems the Secretary was worried that the other passengers, who had been waiting in their seats, would think the plane had been held for him. So he insisted the captain announce the real reason for the delay—which he did. But not everyone bought the pilot's spiel. Moments after Watt had settled into the front row of the coach section, a voice piped up from the back, "So that's the jerk who's been holding us up. It figures."
Pulitzer Prize-winning pundit Art Buchwald has answered once and for all the nagging question, "Why, out of a country of 230 million people, can't we find an outstanding person to run for President?" First of all, explained Buchwald at a luncheon in Denver, there are only 99 million registered voters in the country—38 million of whom are too young to run. That ostensibly leaves a hearty 61 million eligibles—but 30 million of these are women, and we're not ready for a lady Prez, says Art. Out too are a host of other unsuitable prospects, including one million foreign-born voters, three million men afraid to fly, two million with wives who won't move to Washington, two million being audited by the IRS, and another 12 million who are mentioned in a book by Elizabeth Ray. With questionable arithmetic but unassailable logic, Buchwald figures that there are still seven million potential Chief Execs, but reminds us that "6,999,998 people have had psychiatric treatment. That left us with a peanut farmer from Georgia and a guy who played the lead in Bedtime for Bonzo."
Working with his wife, Margaux Hemingway, on a movie about her granddad has given filmmaker Bernard Foucher some new insights. "Margaux," he says, "is an adventurer like Papa. If I tell her we are going out tonight, she will take three hours to pick out a garter belt and lipstick. But if I propose we run the rapids in a kayak, she'll be ready in two minutes."
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