Word: fans
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...impressionable teens. These British hooligans tell listeners things like "Hate an War--the only things there are today," "Career opportunities are the ones that never knock," "If Adolf Hitler flew in today, they'd send a limousine anyway," and other statements of nihilism and frustration that can only fan the flames of discontent. Their music is loud, crude, fast, and shunned by listeners with taste...
...thrown with a completely stiff wrist, the ball should not spin. A revolving ball slices through the air; a spinless knuckleball floats free in the breeze, its trajectory altered by every passing zephyr. A gale wind in Candlestick Park or, it would seem at times, a cough from a fan in the front row of the Astrodome can change its course, making it the hardest pitch to hit. Says Cincinnati Reds Second Baseman Joe Morgan: "The knuckleball messes up your timing so bad it can put you in a slump for three or four games." Joe Niekro, who enjoys watching...
...have small circulat.ions, and none bulges with ads. But oh what readers! Each of the endorsers subscribes to the magazine he is hawking; however, not all were aware of the company that they would be keeping in the campaign. Yet at least one participant, Economist John Kenneth Galbraith, a fan of the liberal New York Review of Books, is unperturbed...
DIED. Sally Rand, 75, tart-talking blond fan dancer whose trademark routine-a nude vamp performing behind peekaboo ostrich plumes to the strains of Debussy -wowed 'em for 45 years; of a heart attack; in Glendora, Calif. She started flaunting her feathers and teasing her audiences ("the Rand is quicker than the eye") in the early 1930s, kept her 36-24-37 figure into her 70s by dancing every day, and claimed that over the years she had changed her act "not a whit, not a step, not a feather...
Quick, now, who is the chairman of Exxon? Or U.S. Steel? Probably not even their shareholders know for sure. But the stockholders of Citizens Utilities Co., of Stamford, Conn., certainly know Richard Rosenthal. They constitute a Rosenthal fan club. By the hundreds, they write him letters that can only be called adoring. The chairman-who at 64 is wiry, bouncy and still strawberry blond-collects the mash notes between burgundy leather covers, answers them all, and elaborates in philosophical, ego-massaging (his own and the shareholders') messages in annual and interim reports, which he writes himself. Very largely...