Word: facing
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...defiance of the Algerian generals could not be heard in the sleepy (pop. 365) village of Colombey-les-Deux-Eglises, 150 miles southeast of Paris. But these were expectant sounds that reverberated in the imagination of Colombey's first citizen, a towering man of 67 with an equine face and the stiff, awkward movements of a French career soldier. And they were sounds that drove him at last to pick up the telephone, an instrument he dislikes, and summon an aide from Paris to receive a typically laconic statement: "For twelve years France, at grips with problems too harsh...
Appearance & Attitudes. Tall (6 ft. 1 in.) and wiry, capable of doing anything he asks his men to do, Massu is what the French call, in a word borrowed from the Arabs, baronder, a hardheaded fighter. His bristling mustache, gigantic nose and fiery eyes are set in a face that looks like a well-worn chopping block. For all his outward appearance of strength. Massu has frequently betrayed an inner uncertainty. Like his hero De Gaulle, he has often wondered whether to suffer under authority that he believes is wrong or to strike out alone. At Suez, irritated...
Dictator-Coddling & Neglect. The charge that most impressed Nixon is that the U.S. has let itself seem more and more the friend of hated dictators. Thrown in his face again and again were such questions as, "Why did Eisenhower give Perez Jimenez the Legion of Merit? Why was that ruthless dictator admitted to the U.S. with such ease after he fell?" Nixon concluded that his unhappy reception in Caracas was a direct result of "ten years of dictatorship" associated in the public mind with...
...magenta-walled midtown Manhattan convention hall known as the Latin Quarter. In a white gown with red lining, she steps before the gold-spangled curtain and gives a wild-riding reading of Witchcraft, her pelvis bumping out the rhythm, her copper-red hair whipping over her face. Her big-bodied voice can flare to an exuberant shout or sink away to a foggy, muted-trumpet whisper. Occasionally, as she sweeps her almond eyes over the ringside tables, she lets flutter a throaty, tongue-trilling sound that suggests nothing so much as the invitation of an amorous cobra. Within the framework...
...tousled white hair quivering rhythmically, his ruddy, jovial face radiating glee, Alexander Calder was beating a steady tempo on the African tom-tom. Swirling around him, clanging a Mexican calabash rattle, clattering a huge Swiss cowbell, tinkling a melody on dangling wires, were his friends -writers, painters, musicians. A gentle breeze delicately spun the forest of mobiles hanging from the ceiling of the Connecticut farmhouse. Suddenly "Sandy" Calder stood up, walked outside past sentrylike steel stabiles, shuffled to a nearby creek. Staring at the soft, easy ripples, Calder exclaimed: "Look at those tiny waves, circling, soothing, yet so much alive...