Word: corduroyed
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Ripe for Laughs. In a red plaid sports cap and corduroy trousers full of holes, the bird man was soon out on Commonwealth Avenue collecting crowds in skeptic ranks. In his hands he carried what looked like two thin aluminum cricket bats. Around his neck was a lanyard from which dangled a long aluminum tube. The trees were ripe with starlings; Mount Vernon was ripe for a laugh...
...when his father, who owned movie houses in Lawrence, Mass., abruptly went broke. Kicked out of their mansion on Jackson Street, the Demaras landed in a shabby old carriage house on the wrong side of the gloomy old mill town. Fred hated poverty, with its stiff work boots and corduroy knickers, and he refused to face it. Every chance he got he sneaked back to the old house, sat in the attic and "dreamed about things I hoped would come true...
...into town. Accompanied by Secret Service guards, Ike and the boy marched into a couple of shops, where the President explained that David was ill-prepared for Gettysburg's below-freezing weather, came out with a couple of brand-new outfits: insulated boots ($14.95), plaid wool shirt ($2.95), corduroy trousers ($4.95), knee-length wool socks ($1.50), single-breasted, charcoal, Ivy League-style suit ($27.50), and grey slacks ($8.95). Ike paid the $60.80 bill (plus sales tax) in crisp new currency and drove home...
...event of such intellectual moment as the birth of a Lippmann column, the setting is deceptively casual. Lippmann, a lean, angular and agile man of 69. is dressed carelessly in his writing habit: grey pullover sweater, corduroy slacks, white wool socks and loafers. He has taken breakfast with his wife Helen, a handsome woman decidedly Lippmann's intellectual peer. He has paid brief but fond attention to his French poodles, Vicky and Coquet. He has concluded thoughtful tours of three morning papers, with stops at all the international datelines. Across Woodley Road and through his study windows drifts...
...crowd of 300 journalists, art lovers and notables waited in a school courtyard in the small French Riviera town of Vallauris. The master, as usual unimpressed by ceremony, arrived dressed in faded corduroy pants, yellow shirt and bright orange scarf. Pablo Picasso bussed his good friend, Communist Boss Maurice Thorez, on both cheeks, then shook hands with Director of French Museums Georges Salles, down from Paris for the occasion -the unveiling of Picasso's much heralded 32-by-29-ft. mural for UNESCO's new Paris headquarters. Picasso yanked the cord, pulling back the concealing curtain. The result...