Word: fever
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Taxes, taxes, taxes! Ever since the resounding triumph of California's Proposition 13 last June, the nation has been shuddering with a kind of tax-cutting fever. Even at a time of prosperity, with the economy humming along at a trillion-dollar rate, poll after poll shows Americans in a mood of irritation and resentment about the amount of money they have to spend on the public needs. Tax-cutting measures of all sorts have sprouted in state legislatures and on local ballots. And as Americans prepare to go to the polls next month in the quadrennial confusion...
Steven V.R. Winthrop, one of the more right-leaning candidates, chairs the meeting. The debate is still intense, the fever high. A motion to boycott Nestle's passes, and the assembly recesses for a week. As students leave, they tell other representatives things they would have liked to have said during the debate had they been recognized...
...surplus projected to total $500 million by next June. To soak up the spare cash, Schreiber, a colorless career politician, proposed cutting property taxes by a modest $110 million and increasing state spending on water purification, schools and debt reduction. But Schreiber, 39, has run afoul of Proposition 13 fever, which has been skillfully exploited by his Republican opponent, Lee Sherman Dreyfus...
...sang in blackface, screens Spanish-language dubbings of anglo hits. An archipelago of taco and burrito carts dots the street. Stores and merchandise stands tout their wares: vestidos, tocadiscos, muebles (clothing, phonographs, furniture). Farther east, on Whittier Boulevard, young Hispanics express themselves with a unique form of Saturday night fever known as "low riding"-cruising in ornately decorated autos equipped with hydraulic pumps that lower the chassis to within inches of the roadway so as to produce showers of sparks as the car bounces along the street...
...front of a crowded bus stop, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his right thigh and turned to see a heavy-set man carrying an umbrella. "I am sorry," the man muttered in a thick accent, then hopped into a taxi. The same evening, Markov developed a high fever. Four days later he died, but not before telling friends that he thought he had been stabbed by a poison-tipped umbrella wielded by a Communist agent...