Word: bourbon
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...issue is not one of reaction against revolution. Landon is as little Bourbon as Roosevelt is Marxist. The choice is rather between an orderly correction of current abuses in the capitalist system, carried out after mature study and in line with constitutional procedure, and a hit-and-run revision of all existing institutions, carried out by the impulses of one man coupled with the endless grasping of pressure groups of every kind...
Saturday night on Bourbon Street, after the Indiana-UNLV game. Indiana won, and ten thousand delirious fraternity boys in red T shirts were in the street, drinking heavily. Here and where we saw more subdued though equally dipsomaniac Runnin' Rebel fans, but the evening was for crewcut Hoosiers from the cornfields. Television crews were out, and every few blocks we saw big knots of people, all struggling to get an alcohol flushed face or at least a clenched fist into evening news immortality. Impassive mounted police stood at the corners, staring from under plexiglass visors while the horses suffered raucous...
Along with the police and ourselves, the detached observers on Bourbon Street that night were the officers and men of the visiting French Navy cruiser Jeanne d'Arc, in the Quarter on liberty. We passed them in order of rank: first groups and pairs of enlisted men, wearing bell bottoms and curiously feminine white blouses with deep square necks and blue piping, and berets with fluffy red pompoms. They looked lost. Next were the petty officers, slightly less visible in summer whites but still dead ringers for Parisian pharmacists. Finally and thrillingly came the Captain and his senior officers...
...Charles Avenue streetcar I engaged in a brief discussion with a small boy who wanted to bet me that he could guess where I'd bought my loafers. A tall man gave me a warning glance as he passed: "On your feet, man. It's Bourbon Street...
...while we sat near two more sailors from the ship in the Maison Bourbon jazz club, which flaunts an enormous banner outside the door: "Dedicated to the PRESERVATION of JAZZ." I suspect this is designed to fool gullible tourists into thinking they're in Preservation Hall, the legendary traditional jazz room across the street. By the time they realize the mistake they're too drunk to leave, having already bought three six dollar Hurricanes with the accompanying souvenir glass. Perhaps this happened to the sailors, who sat at a table near the stage surrounded on three sides by a senior...