Word: clocked
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Chet Mirsky (sic), an aspiring writer. As Heather quaintly puts it to a group of girls in her dormitory who are debating whether to "do it," "I'm glad my first time was not in some filthy hotel in Boston or in Eliot house between four and seven o'clock, not with some smooth-talking rich boy who spent his Harvard years playing bridge at his club...
...fourth section of Volume IV of Dogmatics. At his stucco house on Basel's Bruderholzallee, day begins around 8, when Barth's wife, or his longtime secretary. Charlotte von Kirschbaum, tiptoes to the phonograph and puts on a record. The music that serves as his alarm clock is always by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose work Barth describes as a "constant of my existence." "When the angels praise God in Heaven," Barth once wrote, "I am sure they play Bach. However, en famille they play Mozart, and then God the Lord is especially delighted to listen to them...
...science that Karl Barth pursues gets its subject matter from God; but it would fail, he says, if it did not serve the community of men the way a pendulum serves a clock. Barth's theological output is so vast that only a handful of men have ever read all his works. But for those willing to try them, his books offer wisdom and wit as well. A sampler of Barth's views...
...spacious, columned malls and arcades he put gardens and sculptures. To add a town-square touch, he designed sidewalk cafes, planted trees, and put benches beneath them for the tired shopper or any idler who wanted to stop for a gossip. As a centerpiece he ordered a big central clock ("Meet me under the clock") that contains puppetry: every half-hour, shoppers see a little "show" keyed to the folkways of a different nation. Midtown's overall effect, says one entranced lady shopper, "is that it's glamorous. You can get all gussied up and have lunch downtown...
...clock every morning, in the bungalow at No. 5152 Maplewood Ave. in Los Angeles, a man reaches beneath his bed and pulls out a $ 1,000 guitar. While still stretched out on his back, he plays Johann Sebastian Bach. He seldom stops before 8, and when he does, it is the signal for his three sons, who sleep just down the hall, to reach under their beds and grab their own guitars. The family plays together until 10. Then the father laces on some sneakers, and leads his sons in a run five times around the block...