Word: all-night
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Bullock-Befriending Bard. Bull bums differ considerably from ski bums, tennis bums or beach bums. For one thing, they are only spectators. For another, they are invariably well heeled and can afford the proper clothes, hotels and restaurants as well as the sports cars to make all-night dashes of up to 700 miles from one corrida to the next. The most conspicuous bull bum in Spain last week was U.S. Bachelor Kenneth H. Vanderford, 51, who has seen 94 fights this season and whips from city to city in a red Karmann Ghia...
...lightweight, Marxist-wise. Leaving his two daughters in a Russian boarding school, he headed back to the Western Hemisphere, landing in Montevideo in May 1957. Politically, he observed the rules of asylum by masking his Communist contacts as Russian language lessons. He indulged his love of cognac in all-night drinking bouts, threatening to flatten anyone who dared doubt his boxing ability. When he left on his Cuban junket three weeks ago, Maruca, who had urged him to go, stayed behind...
...teen-ager named Sue Babior (he married her June 25, 1955), Sahl finally fled Los Angeles, followed her to the University of California at Berkeley, and became the academic equivalent of a ski bum. Auditing classes off and on, he drank a tun of coffee a month in all-night campus snack bars, argued art, social science and politics into the abstract hours. He slept mainly in the back seat of his moldering Chevy, and ate cold hamburgers provided by a Nietzsche-soaked friend who worked in a short-order bin. Sometimes he slept on the window seat...
...served enough coffee to keep Rip van Winkle awake and nervous till the end of time. Working Riker's, Cord's and other short-order, all-night stands in Manhattan, she was a competent waitress, but often she served people with her face turned aside. Once when a group of actors came in, she fled to the basement, hid and wept-for Irene Dailey really considered herself an actress...
...Honorable Governor." After such well-organized confusion, New Orleans was like an all-night block party. Shirtsleeved crowds jostled down Canal Street, as the motorcade crawled across the balmy night - through the French Quarter and on toward St. Louis Cathedral. At the head of the parade, invited but unexpected, rode Louisiana's Governor Earl Long in his own convertible. Ole Earl, less than a year away from his revolving-door visits to a clutch of psychiatrists, beat time with his straw hat when he could hear the band. On the reviewing stand he showed up once more to chat...