Word: clamorers
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...been made by the Queen's advisers, and it is hard to see how they will extricate themselves from the booby trap." The London Evening Standard spoke like a firm but indulgent nanny; half a dozen other London papers chimed in with dismay, outrage, chagrin. Cause of the clamor-and envy: the news that Antony Armstrong-Jones is going to work for the opposition...
...Algiers last week, an average of ten people a day were shot, stabbed or bludgeoned to death. Between murders, the city rocked to the explosion of plastic bombs and to the dishpan clamor of Europeans who poured into the streets shouting "Algérie Franfaise!" and "De Gaulle au poteau!" (De Gaulle to the gallows). Once the bitter war in Algeria was fought between the French and the Moslems...
Behind the rising clamor against overseas business ventures lay the fact that U.S. direct long-term investment abroad, which now stands at $34 billion, is increasing at an ever-mounting rate. Last week the management consultant firm of Booz. Allen & Hamilton reported that between mid-1960 and mid-1961, U.S. companies started 653 new businesses overseas, mostly in chemicals, machinery, food, and transportation equipment. Western Europe attracted more than half the new businesses, followed by Latin America and Asia. This year, the Commerce Department estimates, U.S. companies will spend $4.5 billion on overseas plant and equipment...
...Eliot House Committee met later last night. One member ridiculed Dunster's charges as being confined to "mugs you can see through, some mayonnaise... and a few scratched rings." He noted, though, that the charter flight agency was "to be commended." Chairman John A. Hodges '62 refused "to clamor for heads," but urged that the HSA "give a full accounting of itself...
What is a city? demands Mrs. Jacobs in effect. It is, among other things, the shriek of children scooting in the streets, the clamor of crowded living; the neighborhood butcher's, where the housewife can leave her door key, and the corner delicatessen that stays open past midnight; the locksmith and the cobbler, and the florist's potted sidewalk garden; the front-stoop squads with time and chitchat on their hands; the old man gazing like a mute portrait from the frame of his second-story window; and the strangely silent Sunday morning, sweet with the smell...