Word: dreaded
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Mailer's Dread. One paper made a habit of covering the quirks of the convention. The Manhattan Tribune is a weekly that is due to appear regularly in New York in September, hopes to be staffed largely by Negro and Puerto Rican reporters; its editors decided that convention week was an ideal time to get started. It was edited for the occasion by Dick Tuck, an incorrigible prankster who delights in bedeviling Republican presidential candidates.* The Trib reported that the only "swinging" convention in town was being held by Negro morticians. Robert Miller, who had just been named Mortician...
...convention as it might have been written by Norman Mailer, who was covering the event for Harper's. "Mailer," began the Tribune in the third-person style of the author's The Armies of the Night, "came to Miami Beach with a great sense of Dread. He saw John Lindsay right away and that gave him a sharper sense of guilt because his article had elected Lindsay mayor in 1965, and Lindsay had turned out to be an adequate square. He had no existential dimension. By then it was time to go to Convention Hall. So Mailer slipped...
only this time it is played to chill the listener with the dread of a man waiting for saviors who will never come, to the backdrop of the crashing surf against the shore...
Still, there is a certain substance behind this elusive shadow play. Osborne has drawn a portrait of the artist in a middle-aged funk, a prey to the 5 a.m. hoo-ha's, chronically in pain, unappeasably romantic, listening in self-pity and dread to time's metronome ticking away with deadly austerity. Paul Scofield profiles Laurie with meticulous care, but he cannot quite manage that sudden, sneering, swooping descent into vulgarity that Osborne demands. When Scofield has to talk about some woman giving "the golden sanitary towel award," he seems to be holding the line...
Even the relatively covered-up styles expose considerable areas of flesh, presenting many women with their annual moment of awful truth. "Next to going to a dentist, women most dread buying a bathing suit," says Ann Cole. Her calculated remedy: a new line of skin-colored suits embroidered with white flowers. The wearers look trim and nude -from a distance-while remaining covered and helpfully girdled. "It's sex and conservatism in one package," Miss Cole states. Another camouflage is a new version of that old favorite, the tunic, which hangs loosely to the hips and adds a touch...