Word: frowningly
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...community of intellectual giants is not always sweetly harmonious, and over the years there has been less interchange of ideas than the Institute would have liked. The young mathematicians talk mainly to each other, probably because no one else can understand them. Older continental scholars frown at younger types who lunch without coat and tie. Some U.S. social scientists quietly sneer at the work of their European counterparts as pedantic and isolated from contemporary currents. Yet since most of the scholars are at the top of their fields, there is little jockeying for prestige and plenty of mutual respect. "This...
Fidel Castro has never been a swinger. Nightclubs, booze, fancy food, fast crowds-he shunned them all like a capitalist plague, and frowned on any of his lieutenants who failed to do the same. Last week Castro suddenly did more than frown. He announced the arrest of at least 20 "playboy officials" who were giving more of their time to the cocktail circuit than to Communism. Among them: Major Efigenio Al-meijeiras, a member of the party's Central Committee, Castro's vice minister of the armed forces, and the military's second in command-after Fidel...
...Advocate officers have come to frown on such lack of sophistication as they occupy themselves with the wider literary world. In the last decade, its editors have written foppish editorials scorning the semi-autobiographical short stories produced in undergraduate writing courses. One such editorial, by Robert P. Fichter '60, mocks the "Harvard sex story" genre of the 1950's; he contends that the familiar locales of these stories--Widener, the Waldorf, the banks of the Charles, a fifth floor in Lowell--have been played out. But "Winter Term," by Sallie Bingham '58, is like Nemerov's stories: perceptive, caring, indelible...
...dawn, the borrowed bride seems agreeable enough when her master, defying the laws of God and man, declares himself sole possessor of his prize. Though their tepid passion would scarcely justify a stern frown, it somehow brings on rebellion, invasion, indeed an all-hands orgy of picturesque violence. Enemy hordes besiege the tower, piling up in the moat while oil and dissension boil within. "Is this what we get for loving?" asks the fair captive...
After all, Al Vellucci is nothing more than the old ward "boss." Most civic texts frown on bosses. The boss, the theory runs, sacrifices the general interest to the very particular needs of his own district. And there is al- ways, the implication that the "boss" or the machine is easily corrupted...