Word: capes
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...Passed up half a dozen invitations from other northeastern resort areas, e.g., Massachusetts' Cape Cod, announced that he will spend a work-play holiday at Newport, R.I.* "if and when" the House of Representatives declares a recess (leaving the Senate to grind on with civil rights). Sold on Newport by Naval Aide Captain Evan P. Aurand, Ike will relax at Marine-guarded, 92-acre Coaster's Harbor Island, a secluded U.S. Navy installation (home of the Naval War College and a naval training station) hard by the lush Rhode Island summer colony, will stay in the twelve-room...
Research in a Fish Bowl. Whenever a big rocket shoot is scheduled at the Cape, word spreads from homes to stores to filling stations and motels to the concessions on the public beaches, not five miles from the top-secret launching pads. Within the hour the beach crowds are 25% above normal. Binoculars, telescopes and cameras magically appear. "I know there's a missile on a launcher," says an eight-year-old boy, building sand castles, a pair of binoculars around his neck...
Before T (for test) time, all eyes look for the now familiar telltale signs: the radar search dish on the Cape begins rotating; crash boats put out to sea; the yellow warning spheres are hoisted atop the 90-ft. poles; the eight massive service towers and gantries clank and clatter. The tips of the missiles are often visible on the skyline. "Conducting tests on the Cape," said one missileman, "is like performing research in a fish bowl...
Smiles in the Motels. The big night shoots are usually the occasion for the Cape's wives to get together while their husbands work. If there is sufficient warning, they gather at patio parties to watch the gushing clouds of steam tinged with pink, the towers ablaze with brilliant greenish-white light, the plumes of clean-burning jet flame. And in the Starlite Motel, which rents 70 of its 87 units to missilemen from Convair, North American Aviation, Bell Telephone Laboratories, A.C. Spark Plug, the practiced observer at after-the-shoot cocktail parties can tell from the demeanor...
...voyage back was a terror. Off Cape Cod, Boston almost crashed into rocks; a ship nearly ran down Fiddler's Green. When Boston stumbled ashore in Swampscott one day last week, it was 3 in the morning. "I couldn't find anyone-not even a policeman-to take me home," he said. "I had to walk the quarter-mile." After 25 days at sea, Boston was a severe case of nervous exhaustion. "I've had it," he gasped. "I'll never try it again...