Word: fogging
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...What makes me run?" Bailey has written. "I burn, dammit, that's why. I like to run." It is the same with flying. Bailey almost never delays a flight in his own aircraft. "It goes no matter what," and the "what" may be rain, snow, ice, fog, turbulence, thunderstorm or some combination thereof. One white-knuckled regular on these flights reports that Bailey invariably ends the hairiest trips by chortling: "Well, we've defeated the grim reaper once again...
...grandest deception lay in the fog surrounding Dday. Preparations were ponderous, and they aimed clearly at Normandy. But by a brilliant orchestration of fakery, constantly retuned according to the monitoring by Ultra, Hitler was led to believe that invasion was imminent in the Balkans, then in Norway and finally, even after Dday, in the area of Calais. "Special means" had created phantom invasion forces in East Anglia, opposite Calais, complete with phony inflatable tanks that looked real from the air and "complaints" from clergymen about the soldiers' habit of discarding condoms. The nonexistent army even had an illustrious commander...
Director Jaecklin treats O as if it were an idyl on the order of, say, A Man and a Woman. Fog filters are extensively employed; whenever a whip is raised, Jaecklin quickly averts his camera's eye. If it is absolutely necessary to show the results of the disciplinary efforts expended on O, he sees to it that she is most prettily posed for the occasion. She recovers physically and psychologically from her sufferings with a speed that defies both medical science and common sense...
Contributor Richard Schickel, who wrote the story, carefully studied the correspondents' reports and other material on Kubrick. When Kubrick finally did concede to an interview, Schickel flew to London where the two had a four-hour middle-of-the-night conversation in a fog-shrouded studio at nearby Elstree. Schickel found him "tirelessly intelligent, extremely responsive and straightforward, and not at all elusive intellectually...
...CARROLL # 512" was waiting at the curb while the rush-hour traffic crept forward in the darkness at the foot of the John Hancock Building. The press bus was on time, if I wasn't, and its fog-covered windows held forth some hope of reportorial warmth inside, even if those 14 black letters and numerals on its side dimmed my hopes that this would be a presidential campaign press junket worthy of Tim Crouse, Hunter Thompson or Teddy White...