Word: deaths
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...Yarco, Stoughton's hulky Cuban sentinels, pouncing upon each girl as she entered the dorm: "What did you do tonight?" (Avuncular whine) "Who were you with?" (Leer) "Were his roommates there?" (Snicker) "A lady wouldn't do that." (Dismissed); Rob, the awestruck and disoriented Midwestern roommate of the Death Poet, wandering about sadly, latching onto anyone who would listen, occasionally making conversation with the two calculator-addled physics jocks who haunted the stairs and discussed their SAT scores; the tall silent guy we nicknamed Frankenstein, stalking out at dusk, headed for God knew what, and returning at dawn...
...sweats or were seized with hallucinations. One member of Harvard's class of 1978 tossed on his bed all night before a math final, imagining himself as King Richard in Ivanhoe, doomed to a perpetual spear-throwing contest in which he always had to outdistance his opponents or suffer, death...
...disaster when I climbed up the four very long flights to my cavernous one-room double and stared at my roommate with the calculator looped around her belt. I had worried about the place when I met the guy downstairs who bleached his hair ash blond and posted death poetry, embellished by skull and crossbones, on his door. I got nervous when I heard the strains of opera punctuated by very loud and horrifyingly off-key singing in the room next door. But I knew I was in serious trouble when I heard that question...
With few exceptions, like the children in King Vidor's The Crowd, and Jackie Cooper in Vidor's The Champ, kids in those days were usually required to unbottle buckets of maple syrup. Think about the death of Rhett Butler's be loved Bonnie Blue in Gone With the Wind. The little actress, Cammie King, is such a vision of hatefulness in her taffeta gowns, ringlets that curl like maypoles and a voice full of squiggles, that one feels less sympathy at her demise than at the death of her pony. The animal is shot for throwing...
...quest begins with a shock. Upon hearing of his father's death, Wolff blurts out "Thank God." Feeling both self-righteous and ashamed, he decides to plow back into the past, trying to find the man who both made and ruined large swatches of his son's life. A cousin stares at him and says, "He was a gonif, a schnorrer. He was just a bum. That's all he ever was." Wolff decides that the man he once adored must have been more than that...