Word: aloud
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...front of the classroom, "Mr. Arribas" discusses today's poem with enthusiasm, urging the students to analyze and personalize Crane's use of figurative language. Soon, even the sleepiest students are volunteering to read aloud and to offer their own interpretations. By day, "Mr. Arribas" commands the respect and attention of these teenagers. By night, he doubles as Lucas Arribas Layton'00, an English concentrator living in Adams House...
Last confession: I'm as eager to pretend understanding of a hot fad as any journalist. And I do like things kids like; this summer I read all three Harry Potter books, aloud and enthralled, to my wife. So I'm no grinch. Honest. I'm just a guy who loves good cartoons and, when he sees a bad one, gets a little...bit ...UPSET...
...Angeles Times by interoffice e-mail. Otis Chandler, the former publisher who shepherded the paper to nine Pulitzer Prizes, was back--in spirit if not in fact. Chandler, who retired as publisher in 1980, sent his message directly to reporters, to the dismay of the newspaper's management. Read aloud as more than 100 staff members gathered in the newsroom, his words were stunningly direct. His successors, he said, had been "unbelievably stupid" and caused "the most serious single threat to the future" of the paper his family had bought in 1882. People gasped in surprise, then applauded...
...last year a seemingly innocent bit of history homework left Paya feeling bitter and alone. The assignment was for students to write anonymous essays about their views on racism and whether they themselves might be racist. Days later, when the teacher read some of the essays aloud, Rhodes couldn't believe what she heard. One paper, she recalls, described black kids as "loud, obnoxious show-offs." Another depicted blacks as inferior. As usual, Paya was the only black student in the class. "I felt real uncomfortable and out of place," she recalls. "These were people I talked to and worked...
...couldn't. Later I was told that some of them formed a semicircle by the car and began to chant, trying to sing me back to life. A Filipina nurse from the Bidyadanga settlement presently joined them and (I afterward learned) wept as she heard me mechanically counting aloud. I thought I was trying to stay conscious; she thought I was counting off my last moments. For all I know, we were both right...