Word: bunks
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...fours. The regulation, conceived in an effort to improve morale by allowing men who become buddies to stick together, instructs officers to begin putting together four-man teams during the early weeks of training. Once picked, the men will team up in the field, sit together in mess halls, bunk in the same barracks space. Theoretically, they will be transferred overseas as a unit and will not be separated on troopships. The regulation, however, contains the phrase "wherever possible" at regular intervals, a piece of forethought regarded cynically by some soldiers but with a certain sense of relief by others...
...most Americans, the Fourth has become a day of escape rather than an occasion of patriotic remembrance and celebration. Beaches, amusement grounds, baseball parks, golf courses, trout streams and picnic areas are crowded. The U.S. countryside echoes the rhythmic "ka-bunk, ka-bunk, ka-bunk" of white-wall-tired family automobiles whanging over the endless, shimmering, concrete slabs of four-lane highways. Occasionally, the rhythm is disturbed by the screech and crash of shiny sedans meeting in bone-shattering collision (the National Safety Council's estimated traffic death toll for the holiday: 290). Cities lie in Sunday silence...
Serious jazz fans have to admit that Papa has his limitations. He has plenty of talent, but he was never a Louis Armstrong, a King Oliver or even a Bunk Johnson. Those performers had jet flights of imagination as they improvised on their horns. Papa is a groundling, but for those who accept him as such, he remains a steady, sturdy pillar...
...caught his share of brickbats in the past 45 years, stepped up again to heave a few himself. Epstein's targets: the $32,000 Unknown Political Prisoner competition in London (TIME, March 23), and abstract sculpture in general. "Rot," growled Epstein, "abstract atrocities. The whole thing is bunk. One's like another, all empty and meaningless. They philosophize and talk, but it doesn't convince you. You can't take it seriously...
Sweating Conclusion. He stretched out on a bunk as the presidential Constellation Columbine bore him north to Washington; on arrival he went straight to the White House. He had intended to give his speech a final going-over, but instead lay down on a red satin sofa, pulled a blanket up to his chin, and sent word to the editors that he would arrive just after lunch. He seemed hale enough as he walked into the banquet hall at the Statler Hotel, and stood smiling as Hail to the Chief was pumped out by the Marine Band. His voice...