Word: gardened
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...People. In the end, even the White House became interested. A year ago, Lyndon Johnson invited Hirshhorn to lunch, suggested that he consider giving it to Washington. In August, Lady Bird and Lynda Bird made a two-hour visit to Hirshhorn's Greenwich home and outdoor sculpture garden, returned with ecstatic reports. Finally, it was the call of country that won out. Said Hirshhorn: "This collection doesn't belong to one man; it belongs to the people." The news was too good to be kept quiet for long. Last week word of his decision leaked to the press...
Walking down Athens Street in a grey topcoat, flanked by a worried tutee and an energetic black dog, William Alfred doesn't look like a playwright. The subject is Andrew Marvell. "Read 'The Garden' again," he says to the tutee who scampers off in the direction of Leverett Towers. He walks into his house, patting the dog in the process. "Bye, Sparky," he says closing the door (which, incidentally, he rescued from an old Beacon Hill mansion because it was such a "lovely door"), then winks with his gaminlike eyes and says, "Watch him start barking again." He does...
...nail-eyed reverend, was nothing but bones, and even those you could have wrapped in a hankie. His twisted figure was like a knotted string, and he hated his parishioners. With fierce Puritan intensity he preached burning, his whole inside crying die, shouting die. He worked in his garden obsessively, like a madman picking imaginary lint from his sleeve. He wanted women, imagined them in every posture. He wrote dirty doggerel and lied-his single skill. He lived in a thousand careening pieces, like a shattered army...
...rules and curfews to help order their lives; most girls they say, would live "discreetly," keep reasonable hours, and continue to do their course work conscientiously under any system of sign-outs. Nor will rules keep girls safe. Cliffies are warned during Orientation Week that the fiends who haunt Garden Street and the Common will indiscriminately, attack any skirted figure on an English bike any time after dark, whether or not she's escorted, whether or not she's signed...
...police when the scraping stopped. That afternoon, as Sylvia lay moaning and mumbling incoherently on her pile of rags, Mrs. Baniszewski, Ricky, John B. Jr. and Paula sprinkled a box of soap powder on her, then added hot water. Afterward, John Jr. sprayed her with cold water from a garden hose...