Word: franked
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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After I got back to the reception center, I sat, dozed, talked, and ate a cheese sandwich until 8 a. m., when I got a ride to Frank's, where I was staying. As I crawled into my sleeping bag I felt good, and a bit self-righteous. Then I remembered that Tinsley Bryant was still dead...
...Republican Linwood Holton seized the Governor's mansion, occupied for 84 years by Democrats. In Cleveland, Carl Stokes, the nation's first black mayor of a major city, had the aid of white votes in winning a second term against a strong white challenger. In Buffalo, Mayor Frank Sedita, a middle-road Democrat, staved off a black independent challenger and a law-and-order Republican to keep his job-thanks to strong support from the city's blacks...
Like all magic, the attraction of the great city is, in the end, beyond analysis and beyond definition. Marshall McLuhan and the late Frank Lloyd Wright may have been right in arguing that the city should be replaced by smaller communities. But men, alas and thank God, are never strictly practical. Until people are known by numbers alone, the great city will continue to exist. F. Scott Fitzgerald was speaking of Manhattan, but he might just as well have been talking of London or Paris-or Nebuchadnezzar's Babylon or Justinian's Constantinople. Looking at it from afar...
...Died. Frank Goad Clement, 49, three-term Governor of Tennessee; in an automobile accident; in Nashville, Tenn. Tall, handsome, a devout Methodist and Bible-spouting orator ("If a man finds his politics and religion don't mix, there is something wrong with his politics"), Clement won Tennessee's governorship in 1952 at the age of 32; two years later he was easily reelected. A moderate in the diehard South, he rose to national prominence as the Democratic Convention keynoter in 1956 with his "How long, America, O how long?" speech, ripping into "Vice-Hatchetman" Nixon. A third term...
...started yelling again for more action on the field. The heroics, or whatever, of Rex were sort of filling a hole in my life, for I had not the misfortune to leave last year's Yale game five minutes before its completion. So Blankenship was fulfilling the Frank Champi role, and Denis Sullivan was Pete Varney. Six seconds were left, and the tension was unbearable. Interference had just been called in the end zone, and we had new life. A buck into the line failed, but as the clock ticked on Blankenship refused to fold, and got the final touchdown...