Word: contact
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...loafers. When we shake hands, he blurts the first thing that comes to mind: "It's good we're not right behind the horses. That always happens in Vermont--it's a message, I guess. You have to watch your step, which is a pain because you want eye contact with the people." When the parade begins, Dean takes off--running, and I mean sprinting--from clump to clump of parade watchers. His face grows red; he sweats; people hand him Dixie cups of water as if he were in a marathon. John Kerry, by contrast, occasionally breaks into...
...come up with 55 rules for "discovering the successful student in every child." What magical formula has the educator discovered? His core philosophy is that if you teach basic behavioral lessons first, they will lay the foundation for academic education later. Among his tips for kids: make eye contact when in conversation, meet your deadlines, learn the names of all the teachers in your school and greet them, say thank you within three seconds of receiving something and accept that you are going to make some mistakes. Clark, who has taught in poor neighborhoods in North Carolina and New York...
...She’s a very charismatic, beautiful woman,” said Cambridge native Robyn Ward as she wandered back into the sunlight clutching a signed copy of the memoir. “She made eye contact. She made it very personable, even though it went quickly. I love her to death, and I hope she runs for office...
...loafers. When we shake hands, he blurts the first thing that comes to mind: "It's good we're not right behind the horses. That always happens in Vermont-it's a message, I guess. You have to watch your step, which is a pain because you want eye contact with the people." When the parade begins, Dean takes off-running, and I mean sprinting-from clump to clump of parade watchers. His face grows red; he sweats; people hand him Dixie cups of water as if he were in a marathon. John Kerry, by contrast, occasionally breaks into...
This strange group gave me a so-called “ticket” (which was little more than an illegible message on pink stationery) and directed me to a contact in the multi-ethnic town of Tuzla. There I found a man named Fra Peter in the postmodern hellishness of Tuzla’s Franciscan stronghold, a concrete building replete with bomb-proof glass and giant iron gates that obscure passers-by’s view of the many statues of St. Francis, Mary and Jesus inside the immaculate garden. The scribbles-on-pink...