Word: cigars
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...state's nostalgia for Midwestern conventionalism, the energetic campaign of Senator Salinger exploits California's love of audacious good fun. Each day Plucky Pierre crisscrosses the state by helicopter, dropping dramatically out of the smog to embrace an ever-present bevy of giggling Salinger Girls. Waving an outrageously gnawed cigar to the crowd and patting his portly frame, Pierre turns every stop into a garnish tongue-cheek extravaganza...
...from the jet that had brought him home after his four-week, ten-nation tour of South America. The general bore an odd assortment of presents: an Argentine pony (asked De Gaulle when the presentation was made: "What does it eat?"), a Bolivian trumpet, Chilean spurs, a Colombian gold cigar box encrusted with emeralds (he does not smoke), and a Uruguayan whip appropriately inscribed, "Strike hard against the enemies of France." The return received dutiful top coverage by the state-owned television network, although the French had long since become bored with the general's marathon Latin solo...
...said to Avery, "Let's go, man." They walked down to the corner (a SNCC man never jaywalks in the south) with all eyes on the street focussed on them.... It was 2:20 p.m. As Chico and Avery came close to the line, the fat trooper with the cigar and the blue helmet, Major Smelley, barked at them, "Move on." They kept going towards the line of registrants. The next thing I saw was Chico Neblett on the ground, troopers all around him. They poked at him with clubs and sticks. I heard...
...does not use a text, but he ad-libs exceedingly well, having had substantial practice with White House reporters. He spreads his fingers apart, then waves both hands in the air, looking for all the world like a Dutch windmill that has learned how to smoke a cigar...
...blocks west of the Bernauer Strasse tunnel, where 57 East Berliners crawled to freedom last week, an escape of another sort was taking place. Concocted of cigar smoke and the reek of raw schnapps, a blur of spinning spokes and the beat of a brass band, this form of escape goes by the name of "Sportpalast Fever," and can be indulged in once a year when Berlin holds its famed, phantasmagoric Six-Day Bicycle Race...