Word: fathered
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...young boy on a Sunday morning. Sprawled on the living room floor, the boy pores over pages of newsprint. Numbers. Statistics. All the arcane lore contained in the sports section. It is a group ritual. The boy looks up occasionally to share a dramatically improved ERA with his father. The father, lolling on the couch with the Business section, responds with animation. "That reminds me of the 1955 Dodgers. What a season...
Wilson is not a "black" playwright in the sense the term was applied in the confrontational 1960s and '70s. He movingly evokes the evolving psychic burden of slavery but without laying on guilt or political harangues. The son of a largely absent white father and a devoted, enterprising black mother whom he revered, Wilson keeps his white characters at the periphery, yet emphasizes the humanity that binds Americans together. Although his vision is steeped in sadness, it is equally rich in humor and wonder at the everyday joys of living, from the umpteenth retelling of a beloved family anecdote...
...confirmed revisionists, such remarks seem like more of the moss-crusted obstructionism they feel has slowed scholarly progress for centuries. They point to the huffy removal of Sir Thomas More from Oxford by his father in the 15th century because the curriculum had added the newly "with it" subject of Greek. They like to recall the warning of Princeton President James McCosh in 1884 that removing Latin and Greek requirements would leave "the whole ancient world . . . unknown even to our educated...
Chagall's was a textbook case of the way some artists receive their subject matter, their grammar of signs, in childhood. He was a child of the Russian ghetto, born in the town of Vitebsk in 1887; his father was a herring packer, his grandfather a cantor and kosher butcher, his uncle an amateur violinist. The imagery of music and shtetl folklore, mingled with the face of his childhood sweetheart (and future wife), Bella Ro- senfeld, furnished the unaltering ground of his work for 80 years, long after the close-knit and weak little societies it represented had been incinerated...
...meet Bill Lee when I was eleven years old. He was my hero even then. My father and I sat next to him in a local pub, watching him swill beer and listening to him talk about Eastern mysticism and the concept of infinity. No doubt my admiration for such an odd figure was disturbing to my parents. Lee had admitted to being a frequent user of marijuana, and to avoid penalty from the Baseball Commission for smoking it, he fabricated a story of sprinkling pot on his organic buckwheat pancakes. The THC, he claimed, would be activated...