Word: boyds
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...bearded, 45-year-old Greek Orthodox Ethnarch of Cyprus and leader of the Greek Cypriot movement for enosis (union with Greece). This would give Foot a Greek Cypriot with whom to negotiate. And Makarios might be persuaded to restrain EOKA's gunmen, he argued. Colonial Secretary Alan Lennox-Boyd, who had a hand in Makarios' expulsion from the island in 1956, did not agree. He admitted that Makarios would have to be allowed to return to Cyprus eventually-but not until the archbishop gave advance proof that he would curb violence. The Cabinet compromised: Foot glumly went back...
...heavy weather. In trial runs, Sceptre looked her best when fighting to windward in a running sea. Free to move fast and safely in her yawning cockpit, her crewmen could put their stabilizing weight where it was needed. But some British experts were grumbling that Scottish Designer David Boyd, 55, had made Sceptre too rugged. With a foot less waterline length (45 ft. v. 44 ft.), Sceptre's displacement is 68,000 Ibs. compared to 56,800 for Columbia. While Columbia's bow knifes through waves at the waterline, Sceptre bashes them with her barrel chest. Even British...
...came to Boyd, 28 miles north of Fort Worth, in the beefy person of hard-boiled Lee Cockrell, onetime stockyard worker and volunteer fireman, who was named chief of the town's three-man police force. Cockrell stopped the hot-rodders all right. He wrote as many as 80 traffic tickets in one day, used his ever-handy blackjack on some fresh guys who talked back. Indeed, some Boydsmen claimed Cockrell had clubbed them without any sort of cause. Perhaps, so:ne townspeople began to think, the hot-rodders had not been so bad after...
Last week three Boyd youths took direct action. Armed with a shotgun and a .22-cal. pistol, they visited Cockrell's chief sponsor. Mayor Willie Berle Horn, told him: "You get rid of Cockrell, or we will. And you'll be next." Answering a Horn call, Cockrell caught up with the boys in a grove of trees at town's edge, where farmers park their trucks to sell watermelons. There, in a wildly confused tussle, the shooting started. While frightened farmers dived under their trucks, Cockrell fell, shot three times with .22-cal. bullets...
Seriously wounded, Cockrell was taken to a hospital in a neighboring town. And within minutes of the shooting, nearly half of Boyd's townspeople began gathering in a sullen, jeering crowd outside the town hall. Cried one voice: "I hope Cockrell dies." Cried another: "We sure won't miss him. He can stay gone." With such sentiment clearly prevailing, Main Street could start preparing for the nightly roar of the hot-rodders...