Word: chants
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...potbelly, his eyes rolling. "Life is not important. All that is important is the destiny of the nation. All those in accord with re-establishment of the revolutionary tribunals, raise their hands." A quarter of a million hands shot up, machetes clinked in the air, and again came the chant...
...sultry night air, the chant from the Louisiana State fans was plaintive and profane: "Go to hell, Ole Miss, go to hell." Down on the field at Baton Rouge's Tiger Stadium, Mississippi not only had a 3-0 lead in the fourth quarter, but was insolently twisting the L.S.U. Tiger's tail. So confident was the Mississippi quarterback of his team's defense that he was kicking on first down, hoping that tired L.S.U. would fumble deep in its own territory...
With that sort of talk, it could not be long before the Havana mob went after Dubois. Last week, as he sat writing a story in the downtown office of the American Cable & Radio Co., the throng appeared. Came the chant: "Do we want Fidel?" The answer: "Yes!" The question: "Do we want Dubois?" The answer: "No! To the firing squad!" Ducking out a rear door, Dubois was picked up by a military guard, led through the howling, spitting mob to a taxi and safety at the Havana Hilton Hotel. Back in his room, Dubois made light of the danger...
...coffee shops on teeming Rashid Street, some coffee drinkers propped their legs on the café tables to show Kassem the soles of their feet-an Arab gesture of contempt. Demonstrators protesting last month's execution of 13 popular Iraqi army officers (TIME, Sept. 28) even dared to chant: "Allah is great, Kassem is crazy." In the sultry heat of Baghdad, many an old Mideast hand could smell trouble...
...almost surreal quality of this passage, its combination of mystery and sublimity that survives the most dreary Shavian bathos when read with half an ear and half a soul, is turned by its current interpreters into a distracted pandering for tepid chuckles. Mr. Clurman has caused the weird chant to be accompanied by a jolly jig, and Maurice Evans delivers Shotover's curtain line with a phlegmy ingratiation that completely drains it of grandeur...