Word: chauffeur
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Cadillacs and a Continental. The life style among the Cabinet families is as solid as mahogany and red brick. Bill Rogers drives a silvery-grey 1967 Cadillac convertible, though his wife Adele will probably take it over now that her husband has a chauffeur-driven official limousine. David Kennedy has a Chrysler Imperial. More improbably, Cliff Hardin breaks the academic mold to drive a Cadillac himself, and favors dark suits cut in the conservative style of a banker. Maurice Stans collects primitive African art. The Blounts own fine antiques and Oriental rugs; he drives a Jaguar, she a Continental...
...morning was muggy in Saigon, and normally punctual Education Minister Dr. Le Minh Tri was late leaving his villa for the ministry. When a red light halted the minister's Toyota four blocks from the office, Tri, his chauffeur and his bodyguard were more intent on the signal than on the motorbike that drew up alongside them. None was quick enough when one of the bike's two riders tossed a paper bag into the car; as the bike sped away, a hand grenade in the bag exploded. The chauffeur died instantly in the car's flaming...
When Danny and his friends wanted to play touch football, dad's chauffeur would drive them to the playground in a long, shiny automobile. That was fun, but for Danny the greatest fun of all was the idea of some day having a foot ball team of his very own, Why? As Danny once told a friend: "Isn't it the dream of every American boy to own a football team?" For Danny, at least, it was. So, in 1941, when he was 28 years old, he went out and bought himself a team named the Rams...
Starting out as a bodyguard and chauffeur, Valachi survived shifts in power as tricky as ups and downs under the Borgias. He and a partner made $2,500 a week from the slot-machine business. Valachi also ran a numbers racket, a "classy horse room" in White Plains, N.Y., and a loan-shark operation. He bought his own race horses. During World War II, Valachi worked the gasoline black market, earning about $200,000 in three years from finagling with ration stamps. Even at that, he says, "I wasn't so big." After the war, he muscled into jukeboxes...
Besides wrecking the funny material inherited from Southern and Hoffenberg, Henry adds some unfortunate bits of his own: a right-wing army officer (How's that for new satirical terrain?), some lecherous and brutal cops, a racially stereotyped black chauffeur and so on. There's no wit, just half-remembered jokes from other sources, clumsily executed...