Word: doored
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...slamming the door will not soon dispel the antagonism toward nonwhites that originally arose in the colonial era and was later compounded, as the Empire faded, by an uneasy feeling that racial diversity was yet another symptom of national decline. As one troubled Londoner complained to TIME, many Britons "have been made to feel that they don't belong to their own country any more." A white lawyer, speaking about a visit to the capital's racially mixed Peckham area, expressed a common lament: "I felt completely alien. I felt pressure...
...even remember the names of the county judges on the ballot. A campaign for office is an inexact gauge of how a judge will behave if elected. New York Court of Appeals Judge Sol Wachtler made a TV commercial showing him, dressed in his robes, slamming shut a jail door. This tough-on-crime approach was good politics, but voters favoring a law-and-order man were probably disappointed. Wachtler turned out to be, if anything, defense-minded. To get on a partisan ballot often requires a financial contribution to a political party. A New York judge remembers one candidate...
...huge case loads. Judge White likes to "move the business" right along; he hears three or four cases a day, disposes of 15 a week. The day begins at 9:30 or 10, when the judge, clad in his black robe, enters his small, drab courtroom through its single door. White says he deplores the lack of a private entryway to his chambers; it means he has to come in the same way as spectators, lawyers, witnesses, defendants, everybody. Only a few feet of space separates the lawyers from the bench. That is not enough for histrionics, but then there...
...getting any sleep because she plodded around so early in the morning. When I came in late, she would wake up and make me feel guilty. Ellen best expressed her hostility at the one and only party I threw, when, dressed in the orange pajamas, she sat outside our door glaring at everyone who entered...
Thanks, Ellen. I felt a twinge of guilt about my aloofness toward her, but it's easy to feel compassionate when you know you're never going to have to deal with someone again. I put the note away, packed up the last box, and headed for the door. I did not dread returning to Harvard the following year; I had made good friends and found a niche in East Asian Studies and The Crimson. I looked forward to starting over, out of the Yard. But I savored every last step down the stairs, past Chuck's room...