Word: clinked
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...Nerves. Amid the laughter and the happy clink of coin, revolutionary Cuba was as left out as a snowbound Kansas farm. Even after the casinos reopened (see below), war-scared tourists were so scarce that each big Havana hotel offered 40 to 50 free rooms to Miami travel agents as a come-on. Most of the $60 million annual revenue from tourism will be lost. The peaceful islands do not hesitate to capitalize on the trouble. "While other countries in the Caribbean undergo riot and revolution," beamed the Jamaica Tourist Board last week, "Jamaica remains a haven of happiness...
...Style Chief George William Walker, whose smile was as brightly gleaming as the chrome on his cars. But by May. when sales and production turned increasingly sour, so did the faces in Detroit as chronicled in a second cover on the industry's Big Three. With a clink of tools and a clash of cymbals this week, the production lines start up for 1959's new models-cars whose appeal, or the lack of it, will have a telling effect on the course of the U.S. economy. For what the new autos will look like, make by make...
...date, most members of the tight-knit Baltimore families that own the Sun-papers have refused to listen to the clink of Newhouse coin. But a minority still hope to round up the shares needed to meet Newhouse's bid. If Newhouse does buy the Sunpapers, the deal will be by far the largest in U.S. newspaper history, topping the $18,642,000 he paid in 1955 for the Birmingham News and its affiliated properties, including radio and TV stations (TIME...
...towers, menaced a thousand rubbish-strewn, treeless streets. Subway passengers broiled; Broadway theaters and side-street restaurants hung "Delightfully Air Conditioned" banners or closed for the season. The greenery-edged hem of the metropolis echoed to domestic sounds -the whir of lawnmowers, the jingling ice-cream-truck bells, the clink of beer glasses, shrieks of splashing children in backyard wading pools...
...Ovid, The Art of Love With a clink of vials and a wafting of odors, the mysterious rite begins. It is 6:45 a.m., and her husband is still abed, but pretty Mrs. James Locke sits before a mirrored table in her three-room San Francisco apartment, her blonde hair covered by a filmy nylon cap. Over an array of multiscented bottles, sticks, jars and tubes, Jean Locke hovers like an alchemist. She cleans her skin of night cream, anoints it with icy water - and for one brief moment shows her true face. Then, slowly, comes the metamorphosis...