Word: goat
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...first answer is very French but not much fun. Brigitte's uncle, a not-too-old goat of a Spanish nobleman, tries to horn in on her afternoon nap, and only the fortunate interruption of a passing prelate rescues the heroine (and the audience) from a fade worse than death. The second answer is very Spanish but rather grotesque. Since no suitable male is available, B.B. decides to make playful advances to a fighting bull. As she sidles up to him mooing small endearments, the poor bull just stands there looking cowed. The third answer is very Hollywood...
Those were golden years when the high-caste "Goat's Nest" ruled loosely over an ultra-social Claverly Hall. Old Jim Cronin had put white marble-topped tables in his restaurant on Bow-Street, and on occasion those tables were moved together to seat about 60 Harvard professors and student cosmopolites for a high-life dinner. There were no singing waiters, certainly, but table was served by quite a few musical Divinity School students who, as Jim puts it, "have since become reverend doctors...
...Goat's Nest and the other groups which divided their time between Cronin's and the basement of Claverly were carried-over hell-raisers from another era which Jim remembers: the years of prohibition. Jim Seniors place was up on the Hill between Concord and Huron Avenues, doing a brisk food business near the then-buzzing Harvard Observatory. Old Cronin kept his hands off the local moonshine trade, and Cambridge presented him with its first liquor license when the dry years ended. The old man was a fiery red-head whose work in Ireland had netted him the title...
Churchill got on well with children and with pets, which he treated like backward, and therefore privileged, humans. His poodle Rufus. his cat Mickey, and a black goat that took a fancy to him as he was painting in Marrakech. were his special pals. And he could not bring himself to carve a Christmas goose. "You'll have to carve it, Clemmie; this goose was a friend of mine," he said to Mrs. Churchill...
Edward Estlin Cummings, 64 next week, is the goat-footed balloonMan of U.S. poetry, an image he himself used to describe a Pan-piping street vendor of gay toy balloons. In the weather of this poet's heart the season is spring, and as this first collection of new poems in eight years testifies, there is plenty of spring left in his lines (95 Poems; Harcourt, Brace; $4). As ever, Poet Cummings celebrates the life of feeling-love, death and the infinite sea changes of nature. Age has only slightly mellowed Cummings, has not at all curbed his typographical...