Word: daughters
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...switchboard after another-Western Electric, Stromberg-Carlson, Northern Electric. Elden: who had pulled himself out of bed to man the phones more midnights than he cares to remember, wakened by a night-alarm gong from the switchboard and a kick or two from his wife Barbara, who with her daughter Susan may have logged more hours than any two operators in crank-phone history...
Linda, the daughter of a vaudevillian who billed herself "Vera Love, Specialty Dancer" ("I'd be scared to ask her what 'specialty dancer' meant; it may have been something risque," Linda says), had grown up outside Glasgow and had never had a singing lesson or any overriding interest in the musical life. "I'm one of those idiots who will do what the man I'm involved with does," she says. "If Richard had been a bricklayer, I would have been a fantastic bricklayer." No question, she is a fantastic singer. Not trained, not technical...
...Edie Sedgwick? She was a strikingly pretty young woman with a genius for self-destruction. Her pedigree and her rap sheet conspire to prove that truth can be as compelling as the most lurid novel: daughter of a distinguished, disturbed New England family; evanescent superstar of Andy Warhol's underground movies; blitzed-out druggie; a careless suicide at 28. The glamour, the abuse, the aristocracy of decadence-my dear, it's just too delicious...
Seymour Krelboin, a nebbishy lad who works in Mushnik's Skid Row Flower Shop, is in love with Mr. Mushnik's daughter Audrey. By crossing a butterwort with a Venus's-flytrap, Seymour creates a new plant type, which he calls Audrey Jr. and which, it happens, feeds on human blood. As it feeds, it grows, until it has spread over the entire store. Soon the notoriety of Audrey Jr. brings the little shop more business than it can handle. But there is a catch in this Faustian bargain: Seymour must oblige the plant's noisy...
...petite, attractive Blume, daughter of a New Jersey dentist, wrote her first children's book 13 years ago, when her two children were young. They are now in college, and the divorced author divides her time between a New York City apartment and a suburban home in Santa Fe, N. Mex. These days she keeps her highly praised ear for dialogue in tune through the 2,000 letters that she receives each month from youthful admirers. Asked one twelve-year-old: "Do you write your books from your mind, or do you use a kit?" Blume hardly needs...