Word: bus
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...Bonn and Koblenz look all but deserted of tourists on Sundays. The Swiss ski industry is suffering; after two carless Sundays, crowds are thin at the resorts, and there is no waiting on tow lines. Skiers who usually arrive by car seem to be spurning the doubled train and bus schedules that the government has provided from cities. In Belgium, it had long been a national tradition for city families to pile into the car for a drive and Sunday dinner at a distant restaurant. Now sales in the outlying restaurants, especially in the Ardennes, have plummeted disastrously; whole villages...
...group of suburban Baptists, with whom I rode a chartered bus to and from the Crusade one night, liked that sight. They told me so. They liked the idea that Atlanta had progressed--taking them along with it--but they didn't like the accompanying threats. They didn't like the fact that blacks were running their school system, that a black was the front runner in the mayor's race. They didn't like the proposal for a housing project in their neighborhood, which would bring down their property value. But they were going to rededicate their lives...
...other alternative to flying, the bus lines, report no such problems. Nathan Karp, terminal manager for Greyhound Bus Lines, said that if buses are filled, "we just send another bus." He said that he anticipated no delays or shortages of buses...
...many of the doors of the houses are closed, then maybe it's Tuesday or Friday and their owners have gone to the market in San Martin for the week's supplies. They begin their wait at the road at 8:30 when the bus is due, but sometimes it does not arrive until 11:00; other times they must run from their houses at 8:00, colorful shopping bags in hand, money close to breast, as they hear the honking coming down the road. In the afternoon the stuffed buses return at 3:00--or much later...
...walk down to the house. The tiny room is lit only by a candle. The white, intricately carved coffin, carried on the roof of the bus from San Martin, lies beneath the small altar with its cross and holy pictures. Someone opens it, and some children are carried up to kiss the dead child. Then the mother comes and sobs, "My child, my most loved one, why has He taken you from me?" And the old great-grandmother, Guadalupe Cruz, also comes to weep over...