Word: fender
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...Sugar Ray Robinson, grown old and brittle at 39, lost his comic-opera middleweight championship of New York and Massachusetts in 15 floundering rounds at Boston Garden to a flat-nosed pug named Paul Fender from nearby Brookline, later sat with lowered head and talked quietly of the erosion of the powers that had made him the greatest fighter of his generation ("That split second that goes by when you're missing opportunities...
...hatred between children from the town and the mill villages. Scripture-quoting West Virginia-born Boyd Payton, 51, Textile Workers' director for the Carolinas, keeps his remarkably loyal Bible-belt flock together with reminders of the old Confederate heritage, likens the strikers to "those who followed Pettigrew, Fender and Pickett to the heights of Gettysburg...
...fender tanks split; motor fuel washed against the bus's hot rear engine, and flames exploded into the sky. Screaming wildly, the girls struggled to get out, pushed toward the front of the bus. Professor Ernest Sixta, who had been sitting in the back, yelled, "Don't panic! Don't panic!" Bus Driver Carmen Nini opened his door, pushed out a few girls. Fighting his way through the billowing flames to the rear, he forced open the emergency doors and began shoving out others. "The heat was awful," said one girl. "I jumped to the street...
Down the Great West Road from London Airport, on 417 through Hounslow, Chiswick, Hammersmith and South Kensington, the dove-grey, open-top Rolls-Royce rolled into the heart of the great grey city. A small Stars and Stripes fluttered from the left fender; the license plate read "U.S.A. 1." From hundreds of thousands of Londoners thronging outside rows of semidetached brick houses, leaning out of town mansions, tumbling out of pubs, standing six deep in Hyde Park, the shouts went up: "Glad to see you, Ike," "Welcome," "Good for you, Ike." As the Rolls-Royce rolled into Grosvenor Square, from...
When the overdressed Pontiac convertible pulled up to the studio gate one morning last week, the guard waved it in without a moment's hesitation. Philippine water-buffalo horns, 30 inches wide, arced away from the radiator; door handles, gearshift and fender ornaments were all pearl-handled Colt six-shooters, and silver-plated rifles were mounted on the trunk lid. Chromed horse heads studded the I dashboard, and the bucket seats were up holstered in the soft white leather of unborn calf. The chunky, grey-thatched driver was dressed to match. Inside the lot, he braked to a stop...