Word: bathes
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...worked briefly as a data processing manager for Blue Cross/Blue Shield, then set up the Dallas computer software firm of Electronic Data Systems with $1,000. By 1970 his assets had soared to as much as $1.5 billion. He promptly took an oceanic bath as the computer market went stale (in a single day the value of his stocks dropped $376 million), next scuttled tens of millions of dollars trying to bail out two sickly Wall Street brokerage houses. Still easily a centimillionaire, this U.S. Naval Academy alumnus has shelled out more millions in behalf of U.S. prisoners...
...Middle class means you can live above the survival level and have some whims as well as needs," says the Rev. William Lawson, a Baptist preacher in Houston. For Mary Davis, a Chicago urban planner, being middle class means "going to a good school, being clean and taking a bath." Evelyn Thompson, a reporter for KOOL-TV in Phoenix, recalling the well-done cuts of cheap pork that poor blacks consume, observes: "You know a black has been assimilated into the middle class if he eats rare meat...
...seems incongruous among the insistent telephone calls and the stream of ambitious go-go-booted women who curtly pick up their rejected works. "The divorcees always invite me to their homes," he complains. "I usually refuse. One woman sends me obscene letters. Once she invited me to take a bath with her. I stopped reading her letters until she started writing about all the women who were trying to get me fired. Why? Because I didn't sell their work. But, I can't sell it. Art sells itself...
...Coleman, it is semblances that mark the working man different from the college professor. Give a man a blue collar, lace him up in boots and levis, rub dirt into his hands, face and joints and he will be a working man for a day until a bath after supper has swept these petty distinctions from his natural form. Coleman's earnest, nearlaughable effort to play the role to its hilt--munching the very last of the grits at the oh-so blue-collar diner, mouthing the curse-words he once choked on in front of his students--bespeaks...
Like Summer of '42, on which it is cut to pattern, Our Time is made with a combination of calculated modesty and poignance. There is even the same sort of bubble-bath musical score by Michel Legrand to orchestrate the conveniently unhappy ending. The destiny to which Muffy's bad luck leads her is surprising, not because it has been engineered with any tact but because it seems so arbitrary and imposed. Like the climaxes of most melancholy romances, it is never real enough to matter...