Word: deadness
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Double Suicide. It was a day of wrenching contrasts. Quiet seminars mulled over the issues of the war while pickets shouted their dissent. Some mass marches developed a football rally spirit; elsewhere a funereal atmosphere dominated as church bells tolled and the names of the war dead were read. A pair of high school sweethearts from Blackwood, N.J., attended an M-day rally at Glassboro State College, then committed suicide together. Across the Hudson, New York's city hall wore the black and purple bunting of mourning. Mayor Herman Zogelmann of Wellington, Kans. (pop. 8,391) cooperated with...
...helium-filled black balloons. From a bar, a man hollered: "Bums! Do they think of the guys who died on Guadalcanal?" Halfway across the nation in front of the Forest Park (Ill.) Selective Service office, miniskirted girls from nearby Rosary College were reciting the names of the Illinois war dead; two elderly clerks inside went on with their work, paying little attention. San Francisco State College President S. I. Hayakawa, a hero to California conservatives for his rhadamanthine handling of student demonstrators in the past, serenely denied that M-day was being observed on his campus. But not far from...
...Small of WKNR seems to be correct in saying that "whether Paul is dead or alive, there is a hoax here somewhere. The Beatles have a definite preoccupation with Paul's death- physical, spiritual, or fictional." Small mentions three possible explanations for the preoccupation besides the religious one- that Paul is alive and well and "the Beatles are playing a game for the hell of it." that Paul is dead and the Beatles are hoaxing their fans, and that Paul is very ill and has been replaced by a double...
WOULDN'T YOU know it? Kerouac is dead. Neal Cassady is dead, and now Kerouac, of a "massive hemorrhage." He drank too much. He couldn't seem to make the transition to the flower- power scene. He was too much the dirty bum, the dope fiend, the sinner redeemed through his sin, innocent the whole way, embarrassingly sincere, impatient, hostile, one of the most generous souls of his time, a creator of the American underground, avatar of the ones who could not fight the Nova Police because there were too few of them, and they would have been crushed: William...
According to his friends, Kerouac was almost never tired and always hopeful. No one went to visit him in his time; we were embarrassed by our writing teachers who told us that Kerouac's prose was bad. It isn't. Now he's dead; but he was a good man, and the ideas for which he was mocked, that "bad prose" which liberated so many, are still good. We should say a prayer for him: God give us strength to be as alive as Kerouac was. Send us more to help burn away the bullshit...