Word: chumming
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...murder the man. The only reason that Scott was not dead, said Newton, was that "I couldn't go through with it." Although Newton's confession was considered suspect by many, it was enough to set the police digging further in the direction of Thorpe's chum, David Holmes, who had admitted to paying Norman Scott $7,000 in hush money before Britain's February 1974 general elections, allegedly "without the knowledge" of Thorpe...
...some more bile up. Just that evening he was waiting for the Watertown Square bus after work, sitting on an ancient bench in the urine-soaked subway when some freak hauling a queer knap-sack pushed his waist-length hair back behind his shoulders and began arguing with his chum about "perceptions of reality...
...Failing last fall, largely recreated that role here, this time with a Jewish accent rather than a Hungarian one. As Esdras, the aging, protective father, he rages and coddles, all with a sense of powerlessness and imminent death. David Eddy returns to the Harvard stage as Carr, Milo's chum, and the only regret about his part is that it is too short. William Leach brings a kind of manic power and an eloquent voice to Judge Gaunt, and Donald James Campbell renders an eerie, effective portrait of Shadow, the underworld sidekick. Unfortunately, his boss, John Britt as Trock, just...
...This is a crazy place," June's road chum from St. Petersburg testified. "When I went to high school in St. Pete we used to sit around the lake and listen to music and drink beer and one day this Jesus Freak came up to us and started talking Jesus to us and jeez...he was weird! Well, we didn't really want to listen, so we just turned up the music and drank some more beer...
Like the trailing aftermath of a tremendous fireworks display, we poured off the bus, into "Red Sox Country", already sunburnt and still cooking, consuming all our worries and frustrations in a wanderlust inferno. June and her road chum went to a bar to get drunk, the retired amateur golfers hauled themselves over to the Holiday Inn, and I was suddenly alone again, hitching up the road to the Red Sox training camp at Chain-O-Lakes Park out on Cypress Boulevard, where the Boston sportswriters were furiously clucking away at their plastic portable typewriters with half-crazed treachery written...