Word: buns
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...similarly engaged in tilting against giants for their very lives, the people of Brumley Gap have at least got their resistance going early in the proceedings. Most of them cannot imagine defeat. Says Cletis Leonard, a tall, rawboned woman with her silver hair drawn back in a bun: "I sold three quilts at that auction down at the Coon Club last October. Made $200. Maybe I'll do even better next time around." Skinny but indomitable at 95, Floyd ("Unk") Hayter, whose wife Bess thinks the town's big mistake was not getting guns and running the APCO...
...every hundred Americans, one of every twenty American families, and one of every ten American union members is a dues-paying member of Frank Fitzsimmons' union. Teamsters are cafeteria workers at Penn State, sanitationmen in New York City,...zookeepers in San Diego,...cartoonists in Hollywood,...McDonald's hamburger-bun makers in Tennessee,...brewers in Milwaukee,...and 450,000 truckers and warehousemen around the country who drive and store everything from diapers to coffins...
...very picture of an old New Hampshire sheep farmer, complete with white Lincolnesque beard and a bun of graying hair tucked under a shepherd's cap, turns out to be Bob Richardson, a former candymaker from the Atlantic City, N.J., area. Richardson gave up the trade to become a sawmill worker after some health food fanatics convinced him that candy is poison. Now he lives in Rumney, N.H. (pop. 820) with his three sheep. Says he: "A neighbor had these two, and they were going to be slaughtered if they weren't sold. So we bought them...
Compare this with the sensitively understated Gilman as prim Miss Prism, Cecily's spinster governess. Severe in a herringbone suit, her frizzy yellow hair drawn back tightly in a bun, Gilman stands in her characteristic pose, hands clasped in front of her, and expresses dismay, skepticism and repressed lust with utter conviction...
Since then, the café society portraits which now provide Warhol's bread and butter do not pretend to be anything else. To see Warhol entering a drawing room, pale eyes blinking in that pocked bun of a face, surrounded by his Praetorian Guard of chittering ingenues, is to realize that things do turn out well after all. The right level has been found. New York-not to speak of Rome, Lugano, Paris, Tehran and SkorpiÓs-needed a society portraitist. The empty angel of the '60s has effortlessly become the Boldini...