Word: flowers
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...moved up Massachusetts Avenue towards the Charles River, the first warnings came. "We'll see a lot of weird people in Cambridge. We've got our hippies, we've got our flower children just like anywhere else. We've got a lot of traffic too, our streets were designed as cowpaths...
...Boston but we have them. They come from all quarters of the world and they like to keep pretty much to themselves over there. They are very excellent people and have their own clubs and organizations. On the right hand side is Horti-cultural Hall where we have our flower shows. There on the right you see a typical supermarket and a donut store. Donuts are the local rage." Then the Sunglassed Voice told ancedotes about some Midwestern ladies who discovered the local rage and spent their entire vacation taking tours and eating donuts...
There were blacks and whites, flower-decked hippies in shawls and black nationalists in African robes, sharecroppers in denim and urban youths in cowboy boots. The neat rows separating the plywood tents were given names like "Soul Street" and "Atlanta Street" while the shelters themselves bore inscriptions like "Soul House No. 1½," "We Shall Overcome," and "Girls Wanted, Experience Unnecessary." Children lined up for free inoculations against measles, whooping cough, diphtheria and lockjaw, and two vans for dentistry served kids and adults, many of whom had never before seen a dentist. Evenings, the entertainment was the finest in town...
...know how your father and I love cruises! Remember the gourmet tour of the Orient aboard the S.S. President Cleveland with Alvin Kerr of Gourmet magazine? And that flower-arranging cruise aboard the S.S. Mariposa with Bea Frambach, the president of the American Institute of Floral Designers? And the Photography Cruise? And the Golf Cruise? And as you know, Dad and I love nothing better than those marvelous bridge cruises run by Charles Goren...
Thus, in scant outline, my initiation. Dazed, swept through with wonder, I walked down the stairs and outside. In waning February sunlight, with a fierce wind blowing, I shook my head and looked down at my hand. I had been left with a wet handkerchief, one crumpled flower, and a repast--one of my two oranges...