Word: boehm
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...behind, and making another strong debut on the college running scene was freshman Pat Boehm, who took fourth for Harvard in an almost equally stunning time of 27:02 over the draining five-mile course...
...longer pleasant to go to the South of France," sniffs one visitor. "It's so inundated, the pleasure is gone. Life in Southern California revolves around private homes and backyard swimming pools. They've overcasualized; there's almost an absence of tone." Says Helen Boehm, president of the porcelain company that bears her name: "I've been all over the world, and this place has glamour, color and manicure." Boehm (rhymes with dream) saw her very own polo players, the Boehm-Palm Beach Team, win the $100,000 world cup title in April for the second...
...floor of the Ford's private White House quarters last week with Canadian Photographer Yousuf Karsh. During a 3½ hr. portrait session, Karsh caught Betty in a reflective pose after he told her that his Ottawa home is called Little Wings. She promptly produced a small Boehm porcelain-bird figurine from among the household possessions. After his own portrait session, President Ford asked Karsh to get in touch the next time he visits Palm Springs, Calif., where the Fords have decided to spend their retirement. They sold their four-bedroom, colonial-style residence in Alexandria, Va., last week...
...there is a complication that no one can understand. Commemorative china plates issued in high-priced limited editions by the schlock art industry -displaying grackles by Boehm, farmhouses by Wyeth, Wedgwood heads of Commerce Secretary Frederick B. Dent, and so on-have become the back-up currency of the overheated U.S. economy. Another complication is that Athena, Apollo, that bisexual twit Hermes, and Zeus, 42 ft. tall but disguised, more or less, as a skirt-chasing municipal court judge, have settled in above a Greek restaurant on 18th Street, hoping to get some of the action...
...concerns and investigations. The world that the reader now entered became far more real and gritty, far less trivial and debonair. To the untutored eye, The New Yorker was the fixture as before; the magazine's makeup remained unaltered. The glittering Van-Cleef & Arpels brooches, the Boehm porcelains, the Rolls-Royces and Mercedes still whispered their seductions from the sidelines. But, incongruously, in the columns that threaded between these celebrations of richesse were books that would permanently alter their audience: Baldwin's The Fire Next Time, Carson's Silent Spring, Commoner's The Closing Circle, Arendt...