Word: brickes
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...resinous scent of hot green summer flowed in waves across the sprawling north campus of the University of Michigan. But the obsessed, drifting in and out of the five-building brick residence complex perched above Ann Arbor, hardly noticed. This was a weekend devoted to the joys of combat...
...acre tract is located still appears as serene as it was in 1964 when the present rector, Father Keble Prosser, first came out from England to run St. Augustine's. The dirt road twists and turns its way up a hillside, into which are built low, one-story brick classroom buildings and dormitories, shaded by long verandas and heavy foliage. St. Augustine's 14th century bell continues to ring out across the valley. As the African sun climbs through the mist to strike the treetops, the hill rings too with the sound of children's voices...
...visitor to Dover-Foxcroft soon sees, in purely material terms the project consists of a complex of five buildings MacArthur bought for $100,000 with a mortgage taken out last July. Dating back to 1867, Brown's Mill stands in all the interesting stages of decay known to brick, mortar and wood. As MacArthur takes you on the conducted tour, picking his way buoyantly through the rubble, he can manage to see Brown's Mill as a stranger sees it-but not for long. For MacArthur, in this cavernous tomb to New England's vanished woolen industry...
...limousine swept him into Hyden, a dusty red-brick collection of small shops, two pool halls, a drive-in movie and a motel, Nixon read banners that said THANKS FOR REVENUE SHARING, NIXON IS THE ONE, and NOW MORE THAN EVER. After a night in the motel, Nixon rode to the dedication, where he sat drenched in sweat in a non-air-conditioned auditorium packed with 4,500 people in 95° heat. A stream of east Kentucky dignitaries took their bows. Then Nixon, who looked wilted and dazed in those ceremonies, rallied for a 40-minute speech notable...
JAMAICA RAILROAD STATION in Queens in New York City is a depressing place to read a newspaper. Not surprising, really: railroad stations are, as a rule, depressing places in which to read, what with all that railroad-regulation decaying Georgian brick and the stale urine smell drifting from the tunnels where the winos sleep, and the annoying fat bookies who stand next to you in the crush and elbow you in the lower back every time you try to turn off the sports page. But Jamaica Station is special...