Word: epitaphed
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...strongly that writers need to be some place," he says. "The real thing, the real job of artists of any kind is to somehow seize the life you're having in an unrelinquishing grip." McGuane is sure to continue doing exactly that. But, just in case, he keeps his epitaph handy. His eyes gleam with mischief as he repeats it: "No stone unturned -- except this...
Which brings us to our "epitaph." After reading an article that assumes that Romanticism died somewhere in between Woodstock and the Reagan years, and in which my generation is an MBA-armed phalanx of investment banker wanna-bees, and in which the analytical core consists of William Shakespeare, Dylan Thomas and W.B. Yeats, I hope the poet-legislators of the world remain unacknowledged; my epitaph is not their concern. J.D. Connor...
Every generation, every culture, every human individual, it seems to me, earns their right to a certain epitaph--words that sum up, even without entirely describing, the values they stood for, the passions they honored, the choices they made. What saddens me about the generation The Boston Globe, and my own eyes, have so vividly observed and described is that theirs might not have to be these few lines of W.H. Auden's famous "New Year Letter," written on the eve of the Second World...
...power of team chemistry. When the Toronto Blue Jays in the American League East dropped 24 of their first 36 games this spring, it seemed the epitaph for a talented but erratic team. Renewal began with a new manager (soft-spoken Cito Gaston) whose unflappable style helped inspire the midseason revival of brooding power hitter George Bell. The August acquisition of spark-plug centerfielder Mookie Wilson added on-the-field leadership. As Gaston, one of the two black managers in baseball, puts it, "If I wasn't sitting in the dugout, I'd buy a ticket to see Mookie play...
...covert, occasionally openly anti-Establishment reporter." A journalism professor at the University of California, Berkeley, since 1987 (he is now on sabbatical), MacDougall, 57, says that only the security of tenure finally enabled him to reveal himself as a "closet socialist boring unobtrusively from within ((the)) bourgeois press." His epitaph: "Eugene V. Debs may be my all-time favorite American and Karl Marx my all-time favorite journalist. But my employer for a decade was the Wall Street Journal...