Word: dog
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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While Jimmy Carter tried to outrun the attack-rabbit story, Daughter Amy bade goodbye to her maverick mongrel Grits. Born on Election Day 1976, Grits was a gift to the First Daughter from Verona Meeder, her fifth-grade teacher. The dog was returned, presidential aides insisted, because its mother had died, leaving Mrs. Meeder canineless. As usual, however, there were leaks in high places. One was that Amy's pet was sent back because, after 2½ years, it still was not White House broken. · It may be the only gym that contributes profits to California...
...Dirty dog...
...plans were laid for the ceremonial funeral in Westminster Abbey this Wednesday, the bodies of Mountbatten, his grandson and the Dowager Lady Brabourne were flown to Broadlands, his Hampshire estate, to lie in state in the white porticoed mansion. Britons would not soon forget that the distinguished old sea dog, when asked not long ago if he feared an I.R.A. attack, gruffly replied: "What would they want with an old man like me?" A man of civility and simplicity who tried to build bridges instead of exploiting divisions, he could not conceive that his death could be twisted into...
...night you find them, on museum steps, in parks and markets, along waterfronts and under arcades. The groups have antic names like the Tarmac Trio, Three-Part Invention and Dynamic Logs. Mimes, jugglers and fire-eaters often join in the act. Not far behind them come the hot-dog vendors and balloon men. The minstrels provide the nation's most colorful, if casual, summer musical diversions...
...Courrèges boots. But as a rule, Segal's figures are not identifiable. They are generalized, spectral presences, muffled in the folds of calcified gauze, their skin roughened with residual abstract-expressionist drips and clots. It hardly matters that the stooped Gerontion in Segal's Hot Dog Stand, 1978, is a cast of the sprightly museum director Martin Friedman; what does count is the peculiar tension between his dark shape and the bright white figure of the waitress, under the glare of the lit mock-Mondrian ceiling...