Word: drifting
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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Rattled ruminations of an inflation-dazed economist? Hardly. The grim statement, a shockingly frank assessment of the price explosion that is menacing the U.S., comes from a senior official of Jimmy Carter's Administration. Moreover, it accurately reflects the drift and disarray that have characterized the Administration's economic policy over the past three years. As Federal Reserve Chairman Paul Volcker and Treasury Secretary G. William Miller fiddle with the depressing statistics, Carter seems able to do little more than cast his eyes heavenward. Meanwhile, a frantic search for another new anti-inflation program, which could be announced...
Barring a major drift in the political tides, Crane's reception in New Hampshire tomorrow should be equally encouraging...
...investigations have already begun to erode the Treasury Secretary's effectiveness as the nation's chief financial officer. Normally affable and confident, Miller has become truculent and testy after spending distracting hours huddling with his lawyer and countering questions by reporters. Policy clout is now beginning to drift away from the Treasury Department. Since Miller took office six months ago, his top deputies for domestic and international economic affairs have both resigned...
...response has so rapidly escalated the sitation as to provide significant threat in itself. The rush to draw lines, to enter alliances, to seek bases and the start the shipment of significant new armaments to countries in the region, all add up to a dangerous and rapid drift to war. To easily seek military alliances with repressive regimes like that of Marshal Zia ul Haq in Pakistan, or the royal family in Saudi Arabia, seems to be creating just the same kinds of situations that brought crisis and resentment after the fall of the Shah of Iran. Indeed...
...collect pay. Wanda Paruch, whose blond hair and broad pleasant face belie her 52 years, is only one of hundreds lining up early outside the gate on Joseph Campau Avenue, Hamtramck's main street, in the subfreezing, clear morning air. She waves to old friends as they drift off, feeling only an elusive, half-real sense of loss. Above her loom massive gray factory walls with their vast mosaic of windows, painted-over green, cracked and dirty. Only one of the four black smokestacks exhales into the sky. The railroad tunnels that run beneath the building are empty...