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...continued to apologize profusely for the embarrassing situation she had found herself in, I (being the gentleman that I am) mentioned to her that we had not found any of her clothes. Her response.? She didn't bat an eye. "I know," she said. That was a hard one to digest. Nevertheless, when she asked to borrow the plaid shirt and some shoes, we politely agreed. So, she finally went on her merry way, wearing nothing but Peter's now famous shirt, her sweater wrapped around her waist and a pair of my roommate' size 12 flip-flop sandals...

Author: By Peter F. Wallace, | Title: Stranger in a Strange Room | 5/10/1995 | See Source »

...PAST 12 YEARS, ON THE SIDEWALK next to my company's Tokyo headquarters, an elderly gentleman, Harukichi Watanabe, ran a small shoe-repair stand. Secretaries as well as corporate executives would leave their shoes each day for repair. After the poison-gas attack, I noticed on my arrival at the building that his stand was closed and flowers and gifts had been left there. I was told he had been killed in the subway disaster. To my surprise, when I picked up my copy of Time, on your index page I saw a picture of Watanabe lying on the subway...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Letters, Apr. 24, 1995 | 4/24/1995 | See Source »

...world in soothing British voices. I need NPR to inform me of my elected representatives' latest antics. I have been known to stand and applaud when Nina Totenburg lands a particularly well-aimed barb on Speaker Newt. (Not that it's particularly challenging to make fun of the distinguished gentleman from Georgia, but that's another tirade...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: Operators, Sanity, on the Line | 4/20/1995 | See Source »

Over the intercom comes a different voice, sounding energized and excited. The old showman's phrase booms out over the loudspeaker, "Ladies and gentleman, today is your lucky...

Author: By Valerie J. Macmillan, | Title: Bouncing Right Along to Boise | 3/7/1995 | See Source »

Writing Home gives the reader a sporting chance at understanding Bennett; it is as close to an autobiography as this gentleman is likely to vouchsafe. And in its evocations of Bennett's early years, it offers a virtual oratorio of embarrassment. His father, the butcher, played double bass in a jazz band and produced herb beer at home but succeeded at neither. His prim "Mam" made a religion of getting along; eventually she retreated into what Bennett calls "her flat, unmemoried days," like a meeker George III. Young Alan sought glamour in Leeds' double-decker trams, musty mystery...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: BARD OF EMBARRASSMENT | 2/27/1995 | See Source »

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