Word: eye
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Last November the Chicago Tribune documented many sickening cases of police brutality. Among the victims were a teen-ager who lost an eye after being wantonly slugged by a policeman, and a woman who gave birth to a deformed child after being pounded in the abdomen by a patrolman. The series of articles led to the indictments of four cops, whose cases are still pending...
Most of the columns are written in stream-of-consciousness style that leaps from notion to notion with scant regard for structure or logic, neither of which is a Frazier forte. Rather, his strength is an unerring eye for targets vulnerable to his wit, delivered in the bilious tones of an aggrieved headmaster. Once in a while he softens with memories of the good old days. He can sentimentalize at length about bar-hopping with Hemingway and Thurber, and pay tribute to Tim Costello, the late keeper of a Manhattan literary saloon, this way: "Without himself, who has been...
...size that serves him so well on the court becomes an attention-getting brand as soon as he steps on the street. "When you're this tall, there's no place to hide," he complains. To be less conspicuous, Walton slouches in chairs until he is eye level with companions and walks close to buildings to camouflage his height. When celebrity hunters do approach, a weak smile crosses Walton's puckish face, and he professes to be just another guy named Bill...
...wooden boxes, one sliding inside the other. "It may amuse, Mother, to try to photograph," they wrote her fondly. Little did they guess. At first Mother could hardly tell the difference between treacle and collodion, the sticky fluid used to coat her glass negatives. But she had an eye and the kind of cast-iron ego that always stands a photographer in good stead. "Few could withstand the extreme fury of her affection," Virginia Woolf wrote in the preface to the first edition in 1926 of Victorian Photographs, recalling Mrs. Cameron, who was the aunt of her mother, Mrs. Leslie...
...over the ears. "Que es?" --What is it? I asked gamely enough, as I looked at the bottle that said "Coca-Cola" through the dust that covered it. The men continued to laugh. They must not speak Spanish, I thought. I hesitated a moment, but as I caught the eye of the one on the left looking at me expectantly, I quickly took a gulp. The expression on my face must have amused them further, but I can only speculate, because tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision, and fire burned in my esophagus. Before I had recovered my good...