Word: go
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...from dead. After five players had failed to fill the hole left at second by Red Schoendienst, out with tuberculosis, Manager Fred Haney is finally getting some help from Bobby Avila, 33, the old Cleveland Indian, who knows what to do with the ball, even though he cannot go far to get it. Schoendienst may be back by September, but in the meantime Haney can more than make do with the men who won for him in 1957 and 1958: husky Third Baseman Ed Mathews is still hitting home runs (33), lean Rightfielder Hank Aaron is still leading the league...
...trouble solving fast balls tight and high and sliders that break away, still tries to kill the ball instead of just meeting it for base hits. "You might as well talk to a wall as to Rocky," complains Lane. "He'll 'yes' you like crazy, and go right on trying for home runs." Cracks a Yankee coach: "They don't call him Rocky for nothing...
...exploit the possibilities for chance movement that reside in lightly balanced equilibriums. Lye's idea is to exploit instead the resiliences of high-tempered steels and flexible plastics. He raises simple abstract constructions of such materials on pedestals containing silent motor-vibrators. At a taped signal, the motors go into action, moving first slowly, then faster in a carefully calculated cycle, and the sculptures begin taking shape upon...
...would like to see story-high versions of his Tangibles in public parks and plazas, timed to go into action at long intervals, and with suitable musical accompaniment. The result would certainly startle the unwary passerby, and the fact that his Tangibles are wholly abstract may count against them in the eyes of most park commissioners. But Lye remains firmly wedded to abstraction. "These are for grace and power of motion," he explains, "not for imagery. They are not supposed to be like anything...
...voice is smiling and seductive: "We'll go away together . . . Come away love, come away." The voice is big and bold: "Hey, you fool you! Why so cool you!" The voice is sad and soft behind real tears as the lights go down: "Only yesterday, when the world was young . . ." Whatever the tempo, Tin-Pan or torchy, the songs of Felicia Sanders throb with a strange, sinewy vitality in the basement's air-cooled dark. The mikes and the speakers and the slow-changing spotlights are superfluous. When Felicia sings, the silence beyond the stage is the silence...